Silver Glass
by Sandwich Shop Mayo
Summary: "End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it." - J.R.R. Tolkien
1. Chapter 1

They can all feel when someone is coming.

They can't explain it, and they stopped trying to long ago. It's a warm feeling inside, a change in the strange atmosphere, in the air, in their very cores. They feel a yearning that has them moving towards the spot, eager, but weary. They usually stay quiet, waiting.

This time, they don't have to wait long. Usually when the death is prolonged, they have to wait hours. This death must've been quick, and for that they're glad that whoever it is didn't have to suffer long.

It's always equal parts sadness, because it means they've lost another one. But it's also parts happiness, because it means they'll see someone they love again.

They don't have to wait for the whole reveal. Lori gasps first when she sees those boots. Andrea feels her heart drop. _No, no, no_. How could this be?

Then the jeans.

_It can't be_.

The holster holding the python steadily in place.

_How? He was supposed to outlive it all. How?_

And suddenly Lori tries to run. Someone holds her back, Andrea suspects who, but she's too aghast to even think about it. In a way she's heartbroken for what this could mean. He was supposed to outlive it all; he was supposed to save the world. He couldn't be here, it couldn't be him.

But then he materializes, looking groggy and confused. Nauseous. She knows the feeling well. And when his eyes clear and he looks up. Lori calmly walks over and he stops, looking at her like he's seeing a ghost. _Ironic, that that's always their reaction._

He takes a few steps back. Lori tries to reassure him by taking one step forward. He looks so sad and confused that for a moment Andrea also feels a deep pull, a need to walk over. But too much is happening, and suddenly he gasps out,

"Lori?"

Lori smiles. "Hi, Rick."

She's crying, Andrea can tell. But then he looks up at all of them, his eyes scanning them all, even her, and she feels like crying, too. They always feel those strange little lights inside of them, maybe not lights, they hadn't been able to explain. Maybe bubbles, maybe fluttering. She feels it strong, this time.

"What," Rick says, closing his eyes and pressing them shut as if he thinks he's having a dream. They all react like this. "What's going on?"

Lori continues to smile. "What happened to you?"

He looks at her again, his eyebrows furrowed. "To me?"

"You're here."

"Here?" he says, sighing and pressing a hand to his eyes, pacing in a small space. "What do you mean? This isn't... this isn't real. You're not here. I thought we were done with this."

Andrea's heart breaks, but Lori reaches for his hand and when he feels it, solid in his, he jumps away from her.

"Rick," she says softly.

"What's going on?"

"Rick," Lori repeats.

"_Stop_ that," he says. He looks up at them again, and Andrea can see how it begins to settle in, what this means, what _they_ mean. He looks at Lori again, eyes furrowing for an explanation. They very rarely give one. They very rarely have to, save when the deaths are quick. It's always painful.

"Something happened to you," Lori says, trying to be as gentle as she can, trying to qualm the bubbles inside of her.

"_What_?" he demands of her, acting like he's trying to convince himself he's not crazy. Andrea suddenly feels Shane walking over and she looks on. Next to her, Amy holds her hand and Andrea squeezes it back.

"Hey, man," Shane says and Rick's eyes widen with emotion. "It's okay."

"Shane, what's going on?" Rick rasps, his voice near tears.

"She's right," Shane says. "Something... something happened. Rick..."

Those words are always the hardest ones to get out. It's like a final confirmation, a last farewell to the old world. A lot of them accept it quickly. A lot of them...

"I'm dead?"

Rick surprises them all with the admission and doesn't wait for a confirmation. He takes one step back and Shane reaches for him, pulling him into an embrace. Rick stays still for a moment, but suddenly he reaches for his best friend, and the two stay embraced for a while. Andrea looks down, feeling that... feeling again. The tugging, the yearning for that old world. She watches as Rick steps out of the embrace and hugs Lori. Despite it all, the reunion is joyous. It always is.

"Rick," Lori whispers. "The kids."

"They're fine," Rick says and Andrea sees the tears in his eyes. But the sadness is gone and it's replace with something else. Relief? Peace? Some of them accept it too slow. Some, too quickly. "Glenn and Maggie."

"Good," Lori breathes serenely and Rick looks back at her, confusion in his eyes at her easy acceptance of it. She grabs his hand and guides him. "Come on."

Suddenly he's in front of the group, and Dale is the first one to step forward. The two men embrace, and it's joyful, Andrea feels it in her core. The two men pat each other on the back and suddenly Hershel walks up, and the reunion is just as merry.

"Rick," Hershel says with a worry as he steps back.

Rick smiles and pats the old man's cheek. "You have a granddaughter."

Hershel's joy is so big that they all feel it like the little lights in their stomachs. Beth walks up to embrace Rick, and next is Carol. Their reunion is a little sad, considering the circumstances of Carol's death. But Rick pulls back and smiles at her.

"He's still kicking ass."

Carol chuckles. "Of course he is."

He's in front of her, then, and she doesn't know how to react. She feels that weird feeling again, the one the rest of them don't feel. He stills it by reaching for her collar and examining the spot where she'd been bit, and when he sees that her skin is clear, he pulls her into an embrace.

She holds back tight, with a hand pressed to the back of his neck. She feels a sadness she knows she shouldn't be feeling, but also feels his smile pressed against the side of her temple.

"I'm glad you're here."

Andrea chuckles once and pulls back. "What, you think I was gonna go somewhere else?"

Rick grins as he looks at her. "You did have kind of a potty mouth."

Andrea rolls her eyes before he moves on to Amy, Jim, Jacqui, then Axel. All of the people he lost, all of the people he now found. As he moves through them, Andrea once again finds it odd that someone new is able to adapt so quickly. The wrinkles on his face are gone, his eyes are clear. So different from her welcome, so different from everything she went through and at the mere thought she starts to breathe fast. She feels a deep tug within her, it's coming for her...

And suddenly she's gone.

Back in her room with a book in her hands. Her finger still marks the sentence she'd been reading before she was pulled out there, and as she looks at it she sighs, beginning to read again.

to be continued

* * *

_That finale was NOT okay. Really fucking not okay. I'm being generous. It was bull. But nothing's gonna stop me from writing these two. Bear with me on this one, it's a little flaky, and I don't know if it's gonna work. It's really corny, but I'm using it as therapy right now, because I can't deal with the fact that these two won't happen on the show._


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn't know what to expect when suddenly the group is gone.

He looks around for Lori, looks for Shane, but they are nowhere to be found.

Nowhere is a severe understatement. Somehow his eyes cannot adjust to his surroundings. He's not engulfed by clouds, that's for sure. There's no castle, no kingdom, no little angels floating about. No Saint Peter, no heavenly rays, no harps playing.

And yet it's familiar, in a way, familiar in the sense that he feels like he's been here before. Maybe not _here_ here, but somewhere that reminds him of this place. He does feel some sense of peace. He doesn't feel crushed by regret, anger, or exhaustion, nor pain. He feels warm and safe, but still troubled by this confusing place.

"It'll become clear in time."

Without turning around he recognizes Dale's voice. The old man is wearing a smile and that damn bucket hat. Rick squints his eyes.

"I'm not exactly sure where it is I should go," he says, confused.

"There's really nowhere you need to be, if that's what you're asking," Dale says . "It's not like the first day of school."

Rick chuckles dryly. "Funny, cause that's exactly how it feels."

Dale smiles.

"Where did everyone go?"

The old man shrugs his shoulders. "They're around. Closer than you think. People have things to do, deal with."

"And you?"

Dale nods. "I felt you might need a hand."

Rick sighs. Each time someone answers a question, he comes up with even more of them. "I don't understand. Where's Lori?"

The old man starts walking. Where? Rick doesn't know. There's nothing in front of them. But he follows anyway.

"Lori's been here a long time, Rick," Dale says. "It gets easier, trust me. But for now you have to figure your way around."

Rick frowns. He can't remember the old man being this cryptic and once again he wonders if he's having a dream. "What... _way_. There's nothing here."

"There's more than you think," Dale says.

Rick turns to him sharply. He's done with it, done with all this absurdity. "I'm gonna need you to start being honest with me, Dale. I can't deal with all this at once, I need to get it together."

Dale smiles. "You haven't changed."

"Yeah, well, I was alive just a few minutes ago, not a lot of time _to_ change," Rick says sarcastically.

The old man chuckles. "You see what you're ready to see. You saw us, first. So I'm guessing you can see the camp."

"The camp?"

"By the quarry?"

"I don't—" Rick begins, but suddenly there it is. The camp, back in Atlanta. He has to take a moment to stop walking and actually take it in. It's as clear and vivid as the day he first stumbled upon it. He can feel the soil underneath his feet, can feel the breeze, can hear the call of the cicadas.

It doesn't look the way it did when they left it. There's no stench of death, no sign of sadness or distress. A few tents, that's all. It's clean. He can see the RV and he has to take a step back and run his hands through his hair to convince himself that it's real.

"How—"

"It was an important place for us," Dale explains, motioning towards Jim, who sits by a tree with Jaquie next to him, talking. "This is where we first became a group. A lot of people come here."

Rick looks around, looking for others. But it's just Jim and Jacquie. Dale qualms his fears quickly.

"Just because the others aren't here doesn't mean they're not around."

Rick sighs, wishing once again, that someone would just sit down and explain it to him. All of it. But Jim and Jacqui merely wave at him and Dale seems dead set on talking in riddles.

"Where are they?" he asks. He remembers their reunion again and suddenly feels defeated. "Where's Lori ?"

Dale starts walking again. "She could be in any one of her places."

"Her places?" he asks as he follows Dale towards the edge of the cliff.

"Like I said, Lori's been here a long time," the old man explains as they reach the edge and stop. "She's had a lot of time to adjust and learn how to live here. You will, too. Eventually."

Rick sighs as he looks into the distance and then down at the quarry. There's a lone figure down there, sat down upon the pebbles. He squints his eyes, trying to make it out. "Is that Andrea?"

Dale hums. Something troubled passes through the old man but he quickly shakes it away. "She comes here a lot."

He looks up at Dale, then at the spot in front of the RV. "This is where Amy died."

"This is where she found her _family,_" Dale clarifies.

"Then why is she alone?"

Rick looks at the old man and looks down upon her again, but then Dale has a hand on his arm. "Come on."

Indignant that he won't get an answer to all his questions, he follows. "So there's other places," Rick says as they walk. "Can we go to the prison? The farm?" A thought descends upon him and it's so overwhelming he stops walking and feels his eyes moisten. "Can I... Can I go home?"

"You can," Dale says with a shake of his eyebrows. "In time."

Rick sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Why not now?"

"It's a lot to deal with, Rick," Dale warns him as they sit around the camp. "It's not easy. I was here a long time before I was able to see the RV. I could see the camp, the quarry. I could go to the farm. But I couldn't see that damn RV, not until I came to terms with some things."

Rick sits with his elbows on his knees, looking down, thinking about it. It doesn't make sense, but of course, nothing is making much sense. He doesn't know if Dale brought him to camp or if Rick himself is magically able to. If he wants to come back to camp, can he?

Or more importantly, can he leave?

A thought occurs to him. "Can Lori come here?"

"She can," Dale says thoughtfully. "She does, sometimes."

Rick turns to him quickly. "Can you find her? Can you tell her to come here?"

Dale smiles. "I don't have that kind of power, Rick. People come here when they want to. I can't summon them; I'm not a wizard."

He sighs, feeling defeated.

"Excuse me," Dale says with a hand on his back and Rick watches as the old man jogs off. He reaches Andrea, who somehow has managed to make it to the top of the cliff in mere seconds. Rick watches as Dale talks to her. Their body language reminds him of those days after the CDC, when there was a great wall between them. Dale seems to try to reach out for her, but before he can, there is no Andrea.

Rick blinks hard, trying to figure out what just happened. But as he's looking down he suddenly realizes something, and it hits him hard on the stomach.

He lifts his left hand to realize quickly he doesn't have his wedding ring.

Frantically, he looks around the ground, checks his pockets, gets up to scan the area. But it's nowhere to be found. He looks at his hand again, and upon realizing he doesn't even have a tan line he stumbles back.

He looks up desperately, trying to locate Dale. Luckily the old man is still standing there, and Rick reaches him quickly.

"What is this?"

Dale looks at Rick's hand and smiles at him.

He finally explodes. "Enough of this, Dale. Enough of this fucking _bullshit_. If you can't be straight with me then thanks for the hand, but I'd rather figure it out on my own. Where's my ring?"

"Rick, calm down," the old man says as he lays a hand on Rick's arm.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" he shouts, and his voice booms through the camp, and he wants to reach deep inside of him and feel the anger he knows he's supposed to be feeling, but there's no anger there and it frustrates him even more. "Where's my ring?"

"Rick," Dale says and lifts up his left hand.

Rick blinks at it, realizing Dale doesn't have his ring, either.

Dale smiles. "No need for those things here."

But he can't accept it. How could he lose his ring? His wedding ring, the symbol of his marriage, of the vows he took. The symbol of the love that helped create his children, the symbol of the man he is. A family man.

He runs a hand through his face with a sigh and takes one step back. "I need to see Lori."

"I'm sorry, Rick," Dale tells him gently. "I promise you'll see her, you'll see everything. But there's other things you need to see first, in yourself."

Rick nods numbly, accepting it, more out of exhaustion than free will.

"Good," Dale says with a smile. "Let's start with Jim."

to be continued


	3. Chapter 3

The book lay on her stomach when she opens her eyes again. She sighs and puts it away, unable to remember what it was about.

She moves slowly through the house, once again going into each room, wishing she could recognize it. There aren't that many rooms, but each is so different from the next. Some of them are dark, some of them have too much light. It's not her old home, nor an old neighbor's, not any place she'd visited in Miami.

She tries, each time, to recognize this house. Each time she walks through every room wishing she could remember who it belonged to. It doesn't matter, she never can. But she always does try.

Going to camp, she remembers their newest member, and as she thinks of him she sees him in the distance. He's walking by himself. She thinks of Dale, and sees the old man sitting by the pits with Jim in idle chat. She thinks of Amy, and the young girl waves at her from a distance. She always thinks of them first, always the first faces she wants to see.

Now there's Rick, too, and as she hugs herself she walks over to him. Whether he's in deep thought or not she can't tell, but she always tries her best to welcome the new ones. So she approaches him with a press of her lips.

"Hey, new friend."

He turns to her and smiles. "Andrea."

He's been talking to Dale, she can tell by the weakness of his smile. She remembers that process too well. "Out for a walk?"

"Yeah," Rick says tiredly, rubbing his forehead. "Been a long day. I think." Another thought settles upon him and he turns to her. "Do we have days here?"

"I don't know if they're 24 hour days, like we used to have," she says with a shrug of her shoulders. "There is some modicum of time, though."

He accepts her answer with a low hum. He grows pensive as they walk and suddenly looks at her curiously. "I've been trying to find Lori. Have you seen her?"

Andrea lowers her head, shaking it slightly.

Rick sighs. "I need to see her."

"You will."

"Will I?" he says, coming to a stand. She looks at him, she knows. And she can tell he's seeing right through her as he comes closer. "I need you to be honest with me, because nobody else is. She's my wife what... _who's_ keeping her from me? Is she okay?"

"She's okay, Rick," she smiles. "You've been talking to Dale?"

Rick sighs and looks away. "Talking, yes. Getting answers? That's different."

Andrea smiles. A gentle breeze combs through her hair and she feels that extreme peace again. Impulsively, she looks towards the edge of the cliff. It calls to her so intensely she gets up on her tip toes, ready to run. She turns to him eagerly. "You know what might make you feel better?"

He shakes his head nonchalantly. "Can't really—"

"A jump."

He looks at her and the vast chasm, an expression of distrust upon his face. "Uh, no."

"Come on," she says and he follows her.

"Andrea," he warns her as she runs. "Don't... don't do anything stupid."

"It's not stupid," she says as she reaches the edge with a smile, looking below. The water in the quarry is crystal blue, the soil white, and she feels the chasm pulling at her like a magnet. She looks at Rick eagerly. "Close your eyes."

He looks at her with a worrying frown. "What's gonna happen?"

"Trust me," she says, closes her eyes, and he has no choice but to follow. He feels a gentle breeze on his face, and he feels like he vanishes, floating, but just for an instance, and before he knows it,

"Open them."

And he does, and suddenly he's down in the quarry. He watches in fascination, as the water slowly waves to the shore, the rocks reflect the sunlight and the wind howls. He turns to Andrea.

"How did you—"

She doesn't say anything, but smiles and turns away. He follows her to a nearby fallen trunk and sits next to her when she does. She smiles at the water, like it's someone she knows and loves dearly. She closes her eyes for a moment to enjoy the gentle breeze and the sound of the water and the birds.

Rick watches her.

"Dale says you come here a lot." He waits for a reaction but she just smiles slightly and kicks off her shoes. "I saw you yesterday. Or, what I think was yesterday."

She takes a deep breath and looks at the water. For a moment he thinks she's forgotten he's there, but then she murmurs. "It's beautiful."

He looks at the water and realizes she's right. The water is so blue and calm he feels an immense sense of peace. The wind caresses his skin and it feels like he's being loved, cared for. There's no heat. But there's no cold, either. It's just... right and he finds himself smiling.

"I never made it down here."

She turns to him with a small frown. "You didn't?"

He shakes his head. "Always busy up there."

The moment he arrived to camp they thrust the title of leader at him and he was constantly caught between dealing with family problems and trying to keep the group alive. The moment he arrived they had to return for Merle, and then the camp was attacked, and then suddenly they had to leave. He never did find much peace. He found his family, his broken family, but was never able to enjoy the simple niceties of the area. Now that he is he can't believe he never did, when he had the chance.

Andrea smiles, looking down. "This is where we used to wash the clothes."

Rick turns to her with an incredulous smile. "You? Doing laundry?"

She makes a face. "I hated it."

"I don't doubt that."

"But I liked being close to the water," she says pensively, smiling once again at the tiny little waves as they hit the rocks. "I love water."

He follows her gaze and feels transfixed by the tiny waves, the sounds they make as they break into the pebbles. The birds are singing and the breeze is soothing and suddenly he feels like he's sleeping. He tears his eyes away from the water and finds her in his periphery. "I feel like... I'm just gonna wake up at any moment."

She doesn't move and waits a moment before she replies. "Sometimes I do to."

Rick looks at her, and though she continues to stare at the water there is something missing, something the old Andrea used to have. A fire, and suddenly he thinks how weird it is, that the water calls to her so intensely. Did the water change her? Did the water extinguish that fire?

He moves closer, his eyes instinctively drawn to her shoulder where she'd been bit. It's unharmed, clean, but he can't shake that image out of his mind.

"Are you... are you okay?"

She smiles and looks at him. "Yeah, I am."

Her eyes return to their previous spot but he continues to look at her, and thinks of all the regret he feels where Andrea is concerned. So many times she tried to warn him, tell him, beg with him. So many times he ignored her, dismissed her, treated her horribly. And in the end she was right, and it cost her her life.

"Andrea..." he says and doesn't know how to carry this heaviness, "if only we'd gotten there sooner."

"Don't do that," she warns him as her eyes drift to her lap.

He stops because... he doesn't know. There isn't an apology lengthy enough to fix it, how hard he let her down. He had so many chances, so many opportunities to save her but he was too busy chasing after a ghost and she two entrapped in two worlds.

He can't even look at her as he feels the words pour of his mouth despite himself. "We buried you at the prison."

Rick feels her grow tense next to him. "I know."

He smiles sadly as he remembers those days. "We saved them. The people of Woodbury." When he looks at her, she's smiling sadly at the ground. "We did it for you, in your honor. They were good people. I'm sorry we didn't see it sooner."

Her eyes pool with tears and when they fall he feels a ripple effect. "Thank you."

When she looks up, all traces of tears are gone and her eyes are blue, bluer than sky and bluer than they were on Earth. Her hair is fairer, as well as her skin. All traces of worries and stress are gone, and he thinks she looks like an angel, if there are such things. And maybe there are. Maybe Andrea is one of them. Maybe she was one on Earth, with her relentless fight to save them, to save everyone, to love and protect her friends. Maybe she was an angel all along and they only saw it when it was too late.

His train of thought is cut off by her sudden question.

"How did you die?"

He sighs at her choice of words. God, he can't believe this is happening. He tries to recall his last moments, but truly can't remember. It's like one moment he was alive, the next he was here. All he remembers is a huge cloud. They always said it would be a white light at the end of the tunnel, but it wasn't. It was a cloud. Surrounding him softly like cotton.

He looks at his hands and frowns at them. "I don't know."

She smiles at him. "It'll come to you."

Rick smiles drily. "I'm not sure I want it to."

Andrea looks at him curiously. "Why?"

He breathes, trying to figure out a way to put it into words. He never was a talker, more of a thinker. Less of a talker even towards the end, when he'd spend days fighting, giving it his all, and then retiring at night only to wake up and continue fighting. He's rusty with words, but finds the gentle breeze and the blue of the water help him find them.

"Because it was probably messy."

She smiles, seemingly satisfied with his answer, sympathetic of it, and turns her eyes towards the waves. "They all are these days."

He smiles, too, feeling lighter, not knowing how much he'd needed a talk like this and finds it unbelievable that he's talking to Andrea, of all people. He suddenly feels calmer by his surroundings, and turning around he looks up the cliff. It's massive, it would've taken at least an hour to hike down, and as he thinks of this he turns to her. "How did you get us down here?"

Andrea looks at him with a slight frown. "Us?"

"We were up there," he says, pointing a finger towards camp, "and then you said we jumped."

She shakes her head. "_I_ jumped."

Rick mimics her actions. "I didn't."

She chuckles at him. "Yes, you did."

He continues to shake his head stubbornly. "No, you—"

"You could've stayed up there," she tells him playfully. "I jumped on my own. You jumped after me."

Rick frowns, turning to look up the cliff and then down at the water. No, he didn't jump. She brought him here. How could he do such a thing? She told him to close his eyes, she did it. It was her.

But then he remembers Dale, and going to camp. He remembers waking into awareness in different places throughout the camp, and he looks at her.

"How did I do it?"

She shrugs her shoulders, and looks at him with a better inquiry. "_Why_ did you do it?"

He blinks several times as he looks at her, and it's the first time he realizes what it's like to be in Dale's shoes. What it's like to be asked a question you can't answer. Not because you don't have an answer, he's sure he could find one. But because the answer is his, might only be his, and he needs time to find it.

And he'll do that, maybe later, or maybe never. It doesn't seem to matter, suddenly. What matters is the water and the waves, the breeze, and the fact that she's okay. That she's not bit, that she's not burning with a fever. That she's next to him and not 6 feet underground. They they're _all_ here, now. Together. That they don't have to turn around because a walker might be nearby. That they don't have to worry about food, or water, or where they'll sleep.

That he doesn't have to carry a gun.

He smiles, feeling at peace once again.

"You're right, it is beautiful here," he tells her and he feels her smiling. "I can't believe I didn't see it back then."

"There's a lot of things we didn't see."

He looks at her and can't help thinking how right she is. Especially where he's concerned. He didn't see much, from the start. He saw more towards the end, but many lost their lives because he didn't see.

"I wish we could've done some things differently."

Andrea looks at him incredulously. "If we're gonna play that game we'll probably take it far enough so that we'd never been born."

Rick smiles, knowing she's right. But still, he can't help wondering. He plays with his hands as the water continues to play with the sand. The guilt won't allow him to look at her. "You saved us, you brought us together. Losing you was hard, Andrea."

"Rick-" she warns him as she feels herself becoming lighter and starts getting pulled.

"Some of the older people from Woodbury said you were their saint," he says. "We always made sure your grave had flowers."

He remembers putting flowers on her grave himself. Carol mostly did it. Daryl and Michonne, too. But every once in a while, when he could, he'd cover her grave with lilies.

"We never got the chance to thank you-"

He turns to her to do it now, but the space next to him is empty.

"Andrea?"

He stands up and looks around, looks towards the water, up the cliff. He walks the perimeter, looking deeper into the water, trying to find any traces of her.

"Andrea!"

But she's simply gone.

to be continued


	4. Chapter 4

He's standing in front of the RV without knowing how he got there.

The passage, or lack thereof, of time is starting to bother him and he doesn't know how to get used to it. He's okay with death, okay with heaven (or wherever it is he is), okay with souls. But he still can't quite deal with the fact that often he's in one place and the next he's in another, seemingly out of nothing.

The door to the RV suddenly opens and then Amy bounces out, her face bright, merry, and freckled.

When she notices him she hops away from him with a bright grin. "Oh, hey, you!"

His smile grows so wide at her presence that it hurts his cheeks. He doesn't remember much of Amy, but he does remember what a bright beacon of hope she was. All he has to do is look at her, and then he thinks of mermaids and he hears the siren call of an immense peace. No wonder Dale and Andrea had such a hard time getting over her death. Amy is life, she's all heart and soul. All he has to do is look at her and he feels it.

"Amy," he says out of lack of response.

She continues to walk, doing her own thing. "Getting a feel of the land?"

Rick follows, frowning at the ground because what else is there to do? "It's weird."

"It's awesome," Amy says, turning around just slightly enough to look at him and he notices quickly that Andrea has the same habit. "Especially when you get used to it. Man, you're gonna love it here."

He smiles at her candor. "I hope you're right."

"I'm always right," she says smugly before she comes to a stop by one of the trees. A tire hangs off of it and she loops her body through it before she begins to swing.

He smiles as he leans against the trunk. "Well, so far all I've seen is the camp."

"You're new," Amy says. "I've been here for a long time. Trust me, once you get through it all you're gonna be able to see all these people and go to all these places."

His curiosity grows and he tenses slightly. "What places?"

Amy merely shrugs her shoulders. "All the places you've been."

He digests the words before he looks at her again and feels a growing determination. "Home?"

"Totally," Amy says off handedly. "I mean, unless you don't want to."

"I do, I just..." He sighs again, for the nth time. He doesn't know how much longer he's going to beat this dead horse, but he keeps doing it. "I'm guessing you haven't seen Lori?"

"Nah," Amy says, swinging back and forth. "I only knew her here, and she rarely comes by."

Rick frowns. "You only knew her here?"

She looks at him as if she blames him for his lack of information and sighs in exasperation. "You can't be somewhere you've never been," she says. "I have my places, she has hers. I only knew her for about a week, so."

He takes the information, keeps is deep for further analysis, but the rest of her statement calls out to him. He remembers standing with Andrea in that department store, admiring that necklace, and hearing her talk about Amy as if Amy had been a goddess. He remembers even losing thought of his family in that moment, as he stood there hearing about mermaids and unicorns, knowing that whoever this "Amy" was had to be someone amazing. And the minute he got to camp he saw it, but for whatever reason... he didn't bask in it.

There was never time.

"Amy, I..." he says impulsively and finishes the sentence both because he started it and because he feels a deep need to want to. "I want to apologize."

She frowns at him. "For what?"

The moment she asks he realizes how ridiculous he's being. He knows, died knowing, that death comes at them with purpose and it's foolish and magnanimous for them to assume they have any influence in it.

But he has to say it, because that mermaid necklace still shows up in his dreams sometimes. Or still did while he was breathing. "I shouldn't have gone back for Merle. I shouldn't have taken all the manpower. If I hadn't..."

"I'd be alive?" she says with a small smile.

And he only chuckles because it's the driest response he has. "Maybe."

Amy looks at him, smiles, and resumes her swinging. "Rick, I got bit because someone forgot to get toilet paper. Was it your job to get the toilet paper?"

He shakes his head and can't seem to stop looking at the ground. "No."

"Then it's not your fault, is it?"

She explains it so simply and he knows she's right, but he feels better atoning to her, knowing how much he owes her and her sister.

But he realizes how foolish apologies sound in this place and he smiles sadly at the ground. "Whose job was it?"

"I don't know," she says with a sigh and a shrug, as if the thought had never occurred to her. "But when I find them I'll thank them."

His eyebrows furrow at her words and he looks at her incredulously. "Why?"

And Amy looks at him like he's gone out of his mind. "Rick, that world was disgusting!" she says with a sneer. "It smelled bad, it was _awful_. I missed my phone, my computer, the internet. I missed Twitter. It was boring and stupid. I couldn't wait for it to go back to normal."

He smiles at her simplicity, something settling deep and troubled in his stomach because he wishes suddenly that Carl was like Amy. That Judith could grow up to be like Amy. Warm. Pure. Just a child. So innocent and so simple.

Happy.

But the truth is his children are already murderers, and the world Amy talks about is too long gone to return. There's no Twitter now, no Facebook, no movies.

No youth.

And he realizes then how right she is.

Amy's passing was a blessing for her soul.

Amy died young. She died pure. She died with her heart still bright, red, warm, and full of love. She never had to kill, she never had to worry about the living turning on her. She died innocent and wonderful.

He nods at the knowledge and he sees in her smile an acknowledgement. "It never did."

But the thing is, she doesn't care, because Amy always sees the beauty. "Thank God I got my ass out of there when I did, then," she says with a laugh, swinging back and forth still. "Seriously, coming here was, like, the best ever."

He laughs. How easy was it, to forget about the people? How easy to immerse himself into the kill? The fight? He regrets it now, how he never spent enough time with them. But he smiles, realizing now he probably has all the time in the world.

"All my friends are here, my parents, my family," she continues. Much like her sister, Amy doesn't seem to need encouragement where talking is concerned and he takes comfort in that warm realization. "The only thing that sucked about this place was not having Andrea."

Something changes so quickly that he absentmindedly moves his fingers. He misses his hat during moments like this, when he feels like he needs to rub it as a distraction. He can't stop thinking of Lori, and he still doesn't know what's going on all around him, but he remembers watching Andrea vanish in front of him and it troubles him.

"I talked to her today."

Amy looks at him and for the first time he sees doubt in her eyes. "How was she?"

"Good, she..." The words leave him, but they feel wrong and he feels unsettled. He doesn't know much about this new place. In the old world he could lie, say whatever felt convenient and to hell with the consequences. But as the words leave him he stops, goes and takes it all back. "I don't know."

His new answer seems to disappoint her somehow, and he shifts to his other leg as his curiosity burns him.

"What's wrong?"

Amy sighs, looking down. She's no longer swinging, just sitting in that tire like it's a bench, like it's lost all purpose of innocence. "She's not the same."

"None of us are the same," he says out of habit and once again the words that leave him are the wrong ones. And he notices right away, and wonders if some day he'll be able to say what he really means.

"That's not what I meant," she calls him out on his bluff and looks at him, her eyes small and blue and pooling with hurt. "Dale says it'll get better."

He doesn't want to do this, he doesn't want to talk about Andrea. He was never able to, not at the camp, never at the farm, and especially never _after_ the farm. She came at him with fire and died so extinguished that he extricated her from his mind out of a desperate necessity.

But this is her sister, and he owes them, owes them both, so he pushes himself because he needs the atonement. "She was never the same after you died."

"I know," Amy says.

He nods, her presence merely a shadow in his periphery. "I think part of her died with you."

"No," Amy says, and when she looks at him her eyes look exactly the same way Andrea's did when she died. Small, sad, hurt. So blue. "She would've found that part here. She hasn't."

He nods, and wants the conversation to end. But images of the highway appear to him, and he hears Daryl saying they should go back for Andrea. And he remembers putting his foot down vehemently.

She never blamed him. It would've been easier if she had, easier if she'd been angry. Angry was better than the dying flame they found in that room that night.

"I hate that she died," Amy whispers.

Rick nods. "I do, too. We all... we all did."

"I was so angry..." she says, turning to him with an incredulous frown. "She didn't _fight_. She was in that chair and it was like... she just gave up."

He clenches his jaw, remembering the night they found Andrea. He remembers a chair, he remembers the walker, he remembers the cuffs on her wrists. No one, not even Michonne, talked about it afterwards. They brought her body to the prison and buried her beside T-Dog. He didn't allow himself to think, to wonder. It was just easier that way, easier to ignore the fact that when they found her she was in a dark room and there was a chair and her wrists were cuffed and bloodied raw. Easy to ignore because wondering why those cuffs were there was a horrendous feeling. Knowing what the Governor had been capable of, and knowing Andrea was in that room for days, knowing they found her covered in blood, knowing it took Hershel and Carol way too long to clean her body...

"How did it..." The words come out without his permission and right away he wants to take them back, but Amy doesn't allow him the chance. Before he can say _nevermind_ she sighs and he bears himself because he doesn't know how he'll process the information.

"She wanted to warn you about him, about that bullshit deal. He planned to kill you all, anyway," Amy says, looking ahead before she glances down. "He chased after her, to kill her. She actually did make it to the prison. She was right in the yard. She waved at you, but you didn't see her. Before she could get closer he grabbed her."

He has no recollection of this, and he's not surprised. Back in those days he was a shell, just a body going about. He spent most of his time going crazy, nursing an insanity so severe he nearly lost his life, and risked the group's lives, several times.

But it still hurts to swallow and he presses his lips hard.

"You thought it was a hallucination," Amy tells him and he doesn't need to hear it, but he hates that he has to. "It's fine. She understands."

He wonders if she really does. He wonders why. He knows the sisters are good people, good hearted girls, but if it was him he'd be furious at himself.

"He took her back and strapped her to that chair. For two days he..." she say, but stops with a look of disgust on her face and he feels it in a wave of nausea. She doesn't have to say anything, he knows right away. He remembers the cuffs. "Her last day, he stabbed Milton and left him in the room to die and turn. Andrea had a pair of pliers."

He looks down. This was always the hardest part. While on Earth they'd all known, every single death. They knew the details of every single death. Except Andrea's. And now he has them and he feels angry and sad, like he has to grieve in a place where no one should be grieving.

Especially her sister.

"I'm sorry, Amy."

"I was so angry," she says with an outburst that has her standing up. "She could've made it. She was half freed, she had those pliers."

He sighs. "A lot of people died-"

"No, she didn't die. She gave up," Amy says.

He tries to think of something to make her feel better, but he doesn't know what. He didn't see, he hadn't known. He doesn't even remember a pair of pliers being in the room, though it was obvious that she'd freed herself somehow.

"After everything. After the CDC," Amy says, calming down and leaning on the trunk next to him. "Dale was furious."

And in a way, after knowing this, he feels angry, too. Or disappointed. But then he remembers that when she came to the prison they'd treated her like shit and didn't even ask her to stay. She went back to Woodbury to try to save their lives and died in the process. Her death hurt and they always made sure her grave had flowers. But he wishes they could've done more.

Amy senses his discomfort and turns to him. "Her death isn't your fault, either."

"Amy, you don't know-"

"Yes, I know. I _saw,_" she says with fire. "Once you get to know this place better you're gonna be able to see them, the ones who are still alive. And you'll see them differently. You'll see them as they really are. Daryl's not that tough, you know. He's more scared than the rest of them. You don't see things when you're down there. You see everything here."

He raises his eyebrows in incredulity. "I can't say I've seen much up here."

"It's a process," she tells him. "It'll start to make sense soon."

"Why can't someone just tell me?" he says, frustrated.

"It's different for everyone," Amy says. "The things you have to face, everyone that's involved. Yours won't be like mine was. Mine was pretty short, but I died young, so that makes sense. Dale's took _forever_."

She chuckles and he smiles because calling Dale old had always been a joke in camp.

"I'm happy here," she tells him. "I always have been."

He grins as he looks at her. "Even without Twitter?"

Amy laughs. "Maybe I do miss some things."

Rick smiles and a gentle breeze makes him feel less burdened. She goes on and on about other things, teenage stuff he doesn't even understand, but he just leans back and enjoys her, enjoys spending time with her, enjoys getting to know her.

He never did on Earth.

to be continued


	5. Chapter 5

___I just finished this chapter and realized I have a really hard time committing to one single character POV. Ugh. I hope it's not confusing. You guys are wonderful, thanks for the feedback and private messages. If my writing is helping you deal with Andrea's death then I promise to keep writing until my fingers fall off!_

* * *

He's still in camp.

He can't quite figure out if he's ever left.

Since Dale brought him here it seems this is the only place he's been.

He can't even tell how many days have passed. Or if days still exist. He can't tell what it is that happens at "nights". There are no nights, not really. But he has to admit that often time seems to skip. He doesn't sleep. There's no houses, no beds, nowhere that he retires to to close his eyes and drift into slumber.

There just is, and that's this whole place. Just a sense of is.

When he's not self-aware he's not sleeping. When he's aware he's here, and he feels like he's been here forever, but in reality he feels like it might've been just minutes.

He's by a tree in camp, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his fingers, when he looks up as if he's awoken from a slumber he doesn't remember taking. He looks around eagerly, remembering Dale's words,

_The others come here._

Each time he hopes to see more of them, Lori, but each time it's just him. Jim. Amy. Dale.

And today, Jacqui.

He smiles despite himself, and when she senses him, she doesn't even look up. He senses her, too. It's strange and it's in his stomach. It's special as well, because he doesn't even remember spending much time with her back there, but up here he feels such a strong connection to her.

To all of them.

"Hey, honey," she says without looking up. She's sitting on a log, poking at the remains of a fire with a stick. He wonders why they would need a fire here, but realizes they spent so much time back there building fires, it became a part of them. So they do it up here, too.

"Jacqui." Despite her sunny disposition, he finds himself slumping next to her with a heavy sigh.

"Something troubling you?"

He looks at the ashes and they hypnotize him. "Plenty troubling me?"

"Real problems?" Jacqui says with a humorous arch of her eyebrow. "Or some of that white nonsense?"

Rick chuckles and tears his eyes away from the remains of the flames to look at her. "I haven't figured that out, yet."

She smiles sweetly, and Rick finds himself warming up to her. He remembers her in Atlanta, part of the group he first stumbled upon. He remembers her around camp, always smiling and having something smart to say.

He never did spend much time around her on Earth, but the time he did spend with her was irreplaceable.

"Spill it, honey," she says suddenly and he smiles.

He chuckles one more time and shakes his head. "I just... uh. I just don't know about this place."

"What about it?"

"Dale—"

Jacqui suddenly laughs and he looks at her quickly. She waves a hand at him. "Dale's a godsend, but he tends to make things harder."

Rick looks at her and smiles, realizing finally _someone_ gets it. "Can you help me find Lori?"

She shakes her head, as if the question itself is absurd. "Honey, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I spent all of 5 seconds with Lori in the before. No offense. We just didn't have much in common."

He nods. He knows. Lori isn't the easiest person to get along with, especially with other women. He can see how Lori and Jacqui wouldn't have gotten along and he shrugs a shoulder. "I understand."

"Jim, Amy, Andrea, Dale—those were my people."

"I talked to Jim yester—" he cuts himself off, because he's starting to realize the words "yesterday" "today" and "tomorrow" are of no use in this place. "I talked to him."

"I know."

Rick looks down as he remembers the conversation. They'd gone to the RV, where Jim spent most of his time ill. He found out Jim finally found his family, not on Earth, but here. He smiles as he remembers the ease in Jim's eyes, the peace. "We set things straight. He doesn't blame me."

Jacqui smiles at him warmly and cocks her head. "Honey, no one never did."

"I just wish..." He sighs, looking around. He never did spend much time at the camp. He was there for all of two days before they had to move on. And he wishes he could move on now. He's done here, he wants more. He needs more, he needs to see Lori. He turns to Jacqui with a nervous resolution. "Dale talks about seeing new places. But all I see is the camp. I wish I could... I wish I could go somewhere else."

She looks at him knowingly. "Like where?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. "Anywhere else."

She nods and sighs, and glances around before she looks back at him. "Maybe I can help."

"You can?" Rick says and feels like he's heard heaven. He's all excitement as he turns to her. "Can you show me how to get home?"

Jacqui frowns at him. "Do I _look_ like the Wizard of Oz?" she says smartly and smiles when he laughs. "No, honey. There's only one other place I can show you."

"What?"

It happens so quickly he only has time to close his eyes as he feels a breeze and a change. He feels that floating again, that sense of airlessness, and suddenly when he opens his eyes he looks around, and he realizes,

"We're—"

Jacqui smiles at him to confirm.

Rick sighs, dropping his head and closing his eyes in an instant. The CDC. He feels mixed feelings. It was the very first time the group found a haven. It was the first time they were able to eat, drink, have power, sleep, shower. Those first few hours at the CDC had been heaven.

But those last few hours had been hell.

When he musters enough courage to open his eyes, he sees the room clearly. The giant screen, the controls, the dark walls. He looks at Jacqui, and she's smiling at him and he can't help but huff drily.

"Why did you bring me here?" he says tiredly. "This is where you died."

She reaches a hand and touches his cheek. "No, honey. This is where I found peace."

He nods and looks around once more. He remembers their last moments here, with Jenner insisting they should die while they all screamed and cried to get out. But now the space seems huge and empty, and cold. He turns to Jacqui once more.

"Does anybody ever come here?"

"Not many. You understand," she says with a sigh. "Jenner shows up every once in a while. Andrea came once, but it was too much for her. She couldn't handle it. It's rare that someone else does. They all come once and never come back. It's just him and me."

"Jenner," Rick whispers as he recalls his experiences at the CDC. "He's here?"

"You probably won't see him," Jacqui says. "His soul was gone before he was. He's a troubled one."

Rick frowns. "Troubled one?"

She smiles when he looks even more confused. "I don't know what to tell you about that. Dale knows more than I do. You know, for all that man knows, he's really good at not saying shit."

Rick laughs at her candor and it feels so good to finally have someone who understands his frustration with Dale, his inability to get this world as easily as they do. As he looks around the room he knows he'll never return here. The CDC died that day he saw it blow to pieces. But as he looks at her he realizes - he wishes she hadn't died. He wishes she'd been one of the long lasting ones.

Regret is starting to become familiar in this place as he looks at her with a sad smile. "I should've tried harder to save you."

But Jacqui smiles warmly. "Honey, I made my choice and had you tried to change my mind? You'da killed the whole group."

Rick smiles. "Dale didn't—"

"Dale knew I was done," she tells him. "Don't knock the old man out, Rick. Dale's an angel. He knew I was done. But he knew Andrea wasn't. That's why he stayed behind to save her. Because she wasn't done. She needed to live."

He huffs sadly at the statement. Live for what? To die a brutal death at the hands of a psycho? "But she died."

"She died," she echoes wisely. "But she lived long enough to save you, all of you. She saved your children. She saved all those people from Woodbury who made things right. Like Karen. I know how much Karen meant to you. Andrea saved Karen for you, didn't she?"

Rick sighs and looks down. Karen. God, he feels such shame now. Not once had he thought of Karen since he got here. Not once. Yet Karen had occupied his bed for months after they found Andrea in that room. Karen had reached to him, tried. And he'd only reciprocated because she was so much like Lori. Looked so much like Lori. He always felt a sort of shame while sharing a bed with her. She tried so hard to reach to him, to make him love her.

And he tried. He tried to love her. But the love was never there, and she died in the arms of a man who could never give her anything more than sex.

"I was done, honey," Jacqui continues and he looks at her. She reaches for his hand and he squeezes. "This is where I found my peace. And I brought you here to thank you. I could've died in Atlanta, devoured by those things. Instead I died here."

He smiles as he looks at her, and knows he should feel sad, because she died too soon, but she looks so beautiful and peaceful that he can't feel any sadness.

"It didn't even hurt, Rick" she adds. "I didn't even feel it. It was the best death anybody could've ever asked for. It was so beautiful. I died so happy, so peacefully. And I want to thank you for it."

"Thank me," he says, dumbfounded.

"You kept me alive long enough so that I could go out in peace," she says.

As he hears the words he begins to understand. Knowledge comes slowly in this place, he's found, but when it comes it's hard and it's heavy. And each knowledge feels him with more peace. He feels the peace settle inside him even as Jacqui reaches up and kisses his cheek.

"You can come here any time you want now," she tells him. "Hell, if you're lucky you might even run into Jenner. He doesn't pop up much, but if he does, tell him he still owes me a 5 from our last poker game."

Rick chuckles. But the merriment leaves him quickly and he feels a weird heaviness. He looks down, trying to figure it out, but he can't. It sits in his stomach and makes his extremities itch. He looks up at Jacqui quickly. "I need to go back to camp."

"So soon?"

He nods. Yes, soon. _Now_. But he doesn't know why. He just needs to go.

"Then go."

"How do I—"

Jacqui smiles. "Click your heels 3 times and say 'there's no place like home.'"

Rick frowns and looks at her strangely before she laughs.

"I'm just kidding, honey. Just take yourself there."

He shakes his head, confused. "How?"

"Just see it."

And then he does.

And he is.

* * *

She sighs as she comes to wake in that bed again.

The book still lays on her lap, opened on a random page. She struggles to remember what she'd been reading, knowing it's useless to try. She knows she's been reading it, because it's there on her lap. But she can't ever remember what it is she's read. There are words. She can see them. But at the same time she can't.

Putting it away, she rises out of bed, feeling a sense of exhaustion. The house is always empty, it's always just her. She passes each room once more, the one that's too bright, the one that's yellow, colorful. The dark one.

The dark one always fills her with a faraway fear. She's stepped into the other rooms, but for some reason she can't open the door to this one. She sees the black like light under the door, a shadow spilling out onto the hallway. She always makes sure she presses herself closer to the opposite wall as she passes that room. And when the room is behind her she breathes easier.

She doesn't have many options as far as destination goes, she never does. But every time she gets taken to the house she yearns for water.

So she goes to the quarry.

The minute she gets there she feels the calm inhabit her and the fears go away. She closes her eyes and lets the breeze embrace her, the sounds of the water and the birds lull her and bring her comfort. Her mind goes back to her childhood, to the endless hours she spent in the ocean with her father, just the two of them, fishing. They'd sit there waiting, very rarely saying a word to each other. _It might scare the fish_, he would tell her. Yet in the silences she learned more about her father than she ever could have from words, and he always knew her better than anyone else.

She looks down as she remembers and wishes so hard that she could see him. Just see him at least once. See her dad, see her mom...

It starts to happen again, but she looks down, squeezes her eyes tight, and takes deep breaths. She can't go back to the house, not so soon. The house makes her feel so exhausted, kills her more and more, like a cancer eating away at her. She can't go back. She thinks of her father once more and hears his voice in her head, _a fish doesn't stop fighting, Andie, not until its last breath leaves it_, and she fights.

Breathing comes a little easier then, and she inches herself closer to the water to feel more anchored. She yearns for Amy, hoping her sister can feel her distress and come for her. But Amy doesn't come. She yearns for Dale, wishing he was here to talk her through it, but the old man doesn't come, either. She turns up, frustrated that nobody can _see_ her, _help_ her-

"Are you okay?"

She takes her last deep breaths and nods as she looks down, startled, but trying not to show it. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," Rick says as he walks over. "I, uh, I was just with Jacqui, and then I was here."

She nods understandingly. It's hard for the new ones, they don't know how to control where they go, how they go. Then again, it's not that much easier for her, either.

"You don't look so good," he notices, and to deflect him she smiles.

"I'm fine," she goes to sit on her log and he follows. She stares at the water, waiting for its healing effects, and after a while she feels some life return to her. It's only then that she smiles slightly and looks at him. "Is Jacqui here?"

"Uh," Rick says, pondering. He looks up at the camp and he can see Dale sitting there, but that's it. "I... I don't know. We were at the CDC-"

"You went _there_?" she says and it sounds almost like an accusation.

He looks at her. "She took me there."

"You _went_ there," she says pointedly, turning to the water for a second before she looks at him again. "Why?"

He blinks at her, unable to believe that someone is asking _him_ for information on how this all works, when he's the most clueless of them all. "I don't know."

She grows quiet and he basks in the silence but he can tell there's something itching her. When she finally turns to him seconds later he's not surprised. "How?"

Rick frowns, shaking his head and trying to remember how it even happened. "Jacqui just-"

"No, I mean..." Andrea interrupts him, shifting slightly and feeling uncomfortable at the news, "so soon?"

He shrugs his shoulders slightly, not knowing what to tell her. "How long did it take you?"

"I don't..." she sighs, needing the water again. She turns to it and it soothes her as it always does. "I guess it doesn't matter."

He doesn't have to ask, because he remembers his conversation with Amy. Everyone's different, the process is different for everyone. He still has no idea what "the process" is, but some of it is starting to fall into place. The camp, the CDC... he doesn't know what his next destination will be, but he feels some peace at knowing that he will go somewhere. Maybe not soon, but at least definitely.

His only concern is being unable to see Lori. His first day, or when he first showed up, everyone was there. Now it's just the few of them, and he wonders why. No one has an answer that they are willing to give him. He knows he literally has all the time in the world now, but often he gets too impatient and itchy. Why can't he see his wife? His wife, the closest person he was to on Earth. The woman he took vows with. It should be her guiding him through all of this, not Dale. And outside of Dale, he mostly sees Andrea.

He turns to her as she sits there. Up here (or down here, or sideways, he doesn't even know) she looks so much younger, fairer. Her skin seems to have turned to porcelain, her hair to gold, her eyes translucent. Her movements are slow and precise, and he feels that if he stops looking at her she'll no longer be next to him. She seems to be but a mere percentage of who she once was, and maybe it makes sense. Maybe she was putting on a front the whole time, maybe this is who she truly is.

She seems to sense him watching her, so the corner of her mouth tugs up slightly. "So you've been making the rounds, huh?"

"Yeah," he says. "Always seem to find myself back here, though."

Andrea nods and her eyes won't leave the water. "You've talked to-"

"Jim, Jacqui, Dale," he says. He looks at her again, waiting for a reaction. "I talked to Amy."

She nods as a smile crosses her features. "She hasn't changed."

His eyes find the white pebbles and he feels regret again. "I wouldn't know."

He can feel her eyes on him as well as a sudden growth of determination, as far as her posture is concerned. She seems to want to say something, but whatever it is dies at her lips and he's glad. He's tired of people telling him they don't blame him for anything, tired of people uplifting him and making him feel like he shouldn't feel sad that they're here. Because they are here, and it means they're dead, and they shouldn't be.

Each of them is a reminder of his failure as a leader, and he's glad she's finally the first one who doesn't try to make it white. Or black. He feels she sees what he sees - that sometimes it's gray.

He feels such appreciation that he looks at her, and though she's young and beautiful he can't help notice how different she is. Amy showed a concern, a concern that he feels now as he looks at her and she's not the same Andrea who told him to fuck off so many times. He thinks of the group, back on Earth (or wherever) all of them probably bound together and still fighting. And as he does so he can't help thinking she should be with them. She should be back there, fighting, fighting alongside Daryl, fighting with Michonne...

As the thought escapes him he looks down at his nails, pondering. "All the people they loved are here. I mean, Jacqui, Jim, Dale, Amy."

She turns to him with a questioning brow. "How do you know that?"

"They haven't asked me about Earth. Or anyone back there," he tells her and waits for a reaction, but she turns to the water instead. "Not everyone _you_ love is here."

She nods so slightly he almost misses it. "I know."

Rick looks down at the pebbles again. He doesn't know how many times he's done it. She seems to favor the water, while he seems to favor the earth. "You haven't asked about her," he tells her.

"She's alive," Andrea utters.

"Yeah, she is."

He tears his eyes away from the pebbles and looks at her. "You don't wanna know more? How she is? How she's been doing?"

A smile flashes quickly but by the time she turns to him it's only a shadow. "I don't need to."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm always watching her."

Her eyes lock with his and he sees the raw truth of that statement, and he can only smile sadly and nod.

She breaks eye contact first. He wonders if she'll ever stop looking at the water. "That's all I do."

He takes all the information in and thinks of how much time he's spent here. She's always here. Always. Each time. All he has to do is peer over the edge of the cliff and he finds her sitting by the water. He looks at her, and wonders. "Why?"

Andrea merely shrugs her shoulders, narrowing her eyes at the water. "I have nothing else to do."

Rick frowns. "Why?"

She turns to him with a humorous smile. "What are you, a five year old?"

He wants to laugh but he can't, because something's suddenly sad. He doesn't feel the sadness, not like he would on Earth. Back then, sadness would defeat them, bring them down to their knees. Here, it's merely a knowledge, it's in his brain. It's like a fire in his head that tells him, _this is sadness_. But he doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel it in his heart.

But he knows it.

And it makes him lean in closer, because he doesn't just think it, he can see it in her, too.

"Andrea," he says carefully, because she's not Dale and he doesn't even know what he's going for, "why are you always here alone?"

She blinks a few times and looks down and up. "I like it here."

Rick smiles as he looks at the water. "It's nice."

"It's _beautiful_."

"Yes it is," he says and looks at her. There's something she's hiding from him, he can tell. Not that he ever knew her well enough, but it's there, in the way she sits, her body leaning forward like she's itching to jump into the water. It's there in the tiredness in her eyes, in the way her fingers hold on to the log. "But if you can go to other places, why are you always here?"

She looks at him then, with a quick shake of her head and a frown. "Does it matter?"

"Maybe," he says and sits taller. He's too determined to turn back now. "Maybe not. I'm just curious."

"Why?"

"Because this is not how I remember you," he tells her.

She doesn't look at him. A part of him wishes she did; a part of him fears what he'll find in those translucent eyes.

"You didn't know me at all."

He looks down. He doesn't fault her because it's true. He never did spend much time with her. In the months she was with them, with his wife, took care of his son, he didn't try to reach her. It was much harder in the beginning, when so much was happening. Finding his family, Shane, Lori's pregnancy, Carl growing away from him. His family took so much of his time back then that he didn't have any time to get to know the others.

"That's not true." He doesn't know why he says it, but he stands by it. True, he never did find out where she went to college, what her favorite meal was, or even her surname. But you don't need to talk to a person to know them. And the Andrea he knew was a spitfire, a ball of energy and belief.

She doesn't even acknowledge him as he sits there next to her. And if he closes his eyes he knows he wouldn't even feel her there. He thinks of Amy, Dale, Jacqui,

Jenner.

The words leave him before he can even think about them.

"Why were you disappearing earlier?"

She turns to him then, her eyes piercing, as if he's just stabbed her with the question. He looks at her calmly, waiting for a response, but she doesn't give him one. Some of the fire in her seems to return and she seems angry, and he wonders if he violated her privacy somehow. Who knows what they do when he's not around. He's new, he doesn't know how it works.

But the others, they just show up or leave. They step out of the RV, they walk up to camp, they walk off. Andrea doesn't do that, and he needs to know, make more sense of this world.

"I saw you," he says and feels her discomfort, but he ignores it, maybe because he's tired of people being cryptic. He needs honest answers. "You were almost transparent."

She wants to push him, quiet him, prays he disappears. She turns to the water once again but it's not enough and it only reminds her of the moment. And then she remembers her father, and she longs for him, only this time Rick is accosting her and she's still weak from the house. She doesn't want to go back there, _please_, she begs.

But Rick seems to miss her distress, and he forges on. "You disappeared on me before, too. Why?"

She wants to fight it, fight with all she has, but her breath starts to leave and it starts to happen again, and this time she knows - she doesn't have the strength. It's too soon. It's never happened like this, so close in time. She's always given time to recover, to get it it all back, but now she feels herself drifting, being pulled.

She looks at him as she breathes hard in a vain attempt to get him to _know_. But he's too new and he doesn't.

"_What_?" Rick lunges forward as he sees the change in her. "What is this?"

Even if she did have the energy she couldn't answer him. All she knows is she can't go, and with the little strength she has she just shakes her head.

"Rick."

And then it begins, she can see the house. The quarry starts to disappear and she's being dragged.

And all he can do is watch as she starts to vanish. And he wants to believe it's okay and it's normal, but the look on her face tells him this is not good. He doesn't know what to do. He looks up, but Dale is gone and there's no one else around.

Instinctively, and mostly out of desperation, he reaches for her hand.

And in an instant she lurches forward and takes a deep breath, and slowly, very slowly, she starts to become clearer.

He squeezes her hand as she coughs and breathes heavy, but her body is back to solid. "Are you okay?"

When she looks at him, there is no gratitude in her features but rather shock, and she looks at his hand as if he's committed a crime.

"What did you do?"

Rick looks down at their hands and looks at her again, dumbfounded. "I don't know."

_to be continued_


	6. Chapter 6

Andrea is shocked as she stares at their clasped hands but Rick looks merely confused. He grips tight, sensing a stress in her and when she looks at him her eyes are wide, nearly white as the last bits of her solidify.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?" he tells her and she looks at him, realizing he doesn't get what he's just done. She's tried everything in the past, everything to prevent this from happening. She used to be able to, often when too much time went by and she had a chance to recover and get her strength back. But lately she's been sent away so often she never does recover fully before they send her back.

Her head is suddenly clouded and for the first time she actually wants to go away, fearful of what this is. She feels too herself in front of him and it makes her anxious. Too long has she forced false appearances onto others. The core ones see her for who see is. Amy. Dale. Sometimes Jacqui. But no one else. And no one else should. But the first time she actually tries to vanish, she can't.

And she blames his hand.

She looks at him again and Rick is giving her a quizzical look, and once again she doesn't want him to see her like this, weak. So she shakes her head and dismisses it. Safer for him and even safer for her.

"Nothing," she says, sighing quietly to find some ground.

He continues to look at her and she thinks again she wishes she could run. There's kindness in his voice, but his eyes on her feel like ice.

"Are you okay?"

Andrea nods. Her strength starts to return, her feet feel grounded, and some of her old self begins to seep into her. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"I'm sorry," Rick tells her. "Dale and Amy weren't here and I didn't know what to do."

She nods, forcing a smile to look at him. If actors were smart, an old professor used to tell her, they would go to law school instead of acting school. "Thank you."

Whether he believes her or not she can't tell, but he seems to let the matter drop and suddenly he sits up straight as something seems to enter his mind. She's too aware of their fingers still twined to gear herself for it.

"Listen, I need a favor."

Everything's forgotten then and she looks at him inquisitively. "What?"

Rick's eyes are imploring. "I need you to take me to the farm."

Andrea frowns. "Why?"

"I don't know. I just..." he says, sighing. He looks so tired, she thinks. "That's gotta be the next place, right? I need to get there. Can you show me?"

She shakes her head, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know if it'll work. I don't know if you're ready."

He squeezes her hand tighter. "Try me."

Andrea looks at him, trying to decide. Truthfully, she doesn't know if she has the strength to go anywhere at this point, save the house. She looks at their hands and wonders what would happen if he lets go. A part of her wants to find out, but the other part is too afraid. "You don't need me, Rick," she says. "Just... just see it. And go."

Rick shakes his head quickly. "I've tried. It doesn't work."

She looks at him with pity. "Then maybe you're not ready."

"I _know_ I am," Rick tells her, sitting taller. She envies this about him, this sheer determination. She used to have it, she remembers, but somewhere on the way here she lost it.

"Come on, Andrea, I gave you a hand," he adds with a small smile. "Give me one."

Her own lips tug upward. Truth is, he doesn't need her at all. But their hands are still clasped together and she's scared to let go. She doesn't want to go to the farm, she always finds it stressful. But she doesn't want to let go of him, either, because the alternative is too painful.

So she has no choice.

"It's not like following a recipe, you know," she sighs, relenting.

Rick smiles brightly at her as a secret thank you. "I know."

"It's like..." she struggles to explain, knowing she's new at this, too. Dale would explain it better, but Dale is conspicuously absent. She looks at the water to think of what to say. "You don't go to these places, Rick. You let _them_ bring you in."

He frowns as he tries to understand. "How?"

"Everybody does it differently," she tells him, taking a deep breath as she tries to make him see. "I like closing my eyes. I don't know why. I just like it," she says and her eyes drift close. Rick does the same. He doesn't see anything behind his eyelids. He can feel her presence next to him, and it's of comfort. "And then I think of my favorite place."

Rick nods. "The farm."

"No," she corrects him. "Not the farm as a whole. A spot. Just a specific area."

He frowns. "What is it?"

"Whichever one makes you feel like home," she tells him and smiles. "Mine is the little camp we had. Remember? Near the RV?"

"Where we set our tents?" He smiles as he remembers. They'd set up their tents under the shading trees, with the RV nearby. Warmth pools in his stomach as he realizes it was there, under those trees, where they became a family and he feels appreciation and admiration at her for recognizing it, for remembering.

"Yeah."

His smile spreads even more as memories flood him and he recalls some of their happier days, when they thought the plague would die soon and everything would return to normal. The trees showered them with shade, but also with innocence and hope. And then he feels the pull. "That was our home."

She chuckles slightly next to him. "Remember?"

"I do."

And when he opens his eyes, they're there. It's overwhelming and he has to take a few steps back to recover, but it's there. He's there. And it's beautiful. The house still stands, clear as day. The barn isn't burned to the ground. They're in that spot, the spot where they set their little camp. Some of the tents are there. Even the RV. It's so real he needs to take a moment to collect himself and this time it's him who finds comfort in her hand.

So much happened here. Everything happened here. This is where he almost lost Carl, where they were able to breathe, just for a moment. This is where he found himself as a leader. This is where he lost his humanity. This is where they found a new family. This is where they finally came together as a solid group. This is where they lost it all. This is where they gained so much.

He looks at Andrea, smiling brightly, and squeezes her hand. "Thank you,"

She smiles back. "It was all you."

He looks around in fascination. And then he sees others. He sees Patricia, off in the distance. He sees Jimmy, sitting with Beth. He sees Otis bringing flowers to his wife. He even sees Hershel, sitting on the porch of the house. His eyes continue to scan the area.

And then he sees Sophia.

He needs to grip Andrea's hand tight to keep himself grounded. She grips back, knowingly, because she was there and she always knew how much he blamed himself.

He starts to doubt it all. Maybe it's too soon. Maybe he's not ready. But he's here and unlike Andrea, he can't just disappear.

The little girl is hanging on to her mother but the moment she sees him she tears herself away. And then she's running towards him, her arms flailing about as she struggles to reach him. He feels a painful joy similar to the one he felt when he found Carl in Atlanta, and when Sophia throws herself into his arms he feels tears prickle in his eyes as he lifts her.

He holds her tight, struggling to believe how this could be real. Sophia's death was the death of him, was the death of them as a group in so many ways. All innocence died that day, all sense of foolish hope. All Sophia had to do was take two steps out of that barn, and he was gone forever. Carl, too. Her death changed them all, changed the game, the way they saw the world. Just a small little girl. She was barely even a presence in the group. Yet her death had such an impact that even today his son's childhood remains buried with her bones.

And now he can't believe she's here, smiling brightly in his arms. He sets her down and kneels in front of her to look at her. She hasn't changed. He recalls her playing with Carl, carrying that doll everywhere she went. Sophia was the last innocent one. She's still innocent now, and for that he says a silent thank you. She's smiling brightly and her teeth are bucked and crooked and all he wants to do is go back to that day and do it right. Bring her back safely, make sure she's alright.

He knows he can't. He made a decision in those woods and he decided to leave her behind. She's only a child, but their bond seems so ancient. He can see it in her eyes. They are huge and honey brown, tender, yet knowing. And he feels that knowledge settle in his stomach. Theirs is a murder/suicide pact. He left her in the woods to die, and then when she stumbled out of the barn she killed him forever.

Looking at her, though, he couldn't tell. She looks at him with such love and appreciation all he can think about is how much he wishes he could get in a car and take her to the Grand Canyon like he promised her he would.

When the tears trail down his cheeks he doesn't move to wipe at them. His hands frame her face instead.

"Look at you," he says, pressing his hands to her arms to make sure she's here and she's solid and real. "You're _so_ big."

Sophia smiles brightly, with her rainbow shirt mirroring her innocence and her two front teeth sticking way out. "I'm still the same."

"No," he says confidently, "you're much prettier now."

She smiles brightly and he can't stop basking in her happiness. The last time he saw her she was a monster and he was putting a bullet to her head.

"Took you long enough."

He looks up and he sees Carol approaching them with a warm smile on her face. She looks younger, too, radiant as she embraces Andrea then walks over and threads her fingers through Sophia's hair. Rick hugs her tight, recalling her last breath and all those moments they spent together on the road. He watched her go from a meek, battered woman to a fierce warrior, and as he holds her he can't believe this is happening. And it might be too much.

Jacqui, Amy, Jim... they were gone so quickly that it's easier to face them. But the ones here, the ones he spent so much time with, the ones that impacted him the most... it's overwhelming.

He pulls back and wipes at his eyes as he looks around once more. Once again he can't believe it's real.

_It's not real_, he reminds himself. The RV can't be at the camp and here at the same time. But it feels so real he needs to take a moment to take it all in. The trees are the same, the dry patches on the grass are the same, even the temperature is the same. It knocks the air out of him. "It's all here."

"Yeah," Carol sighs. She, too, looks around and when her eyes land on him again she smiles. "This was it, wasn't it."

"This was it," Rick echoes. He looks from Sophia, to Carol, to Andrea. The others are in the distance, he knows they're there. But save for Jimmy and Patricia, they didn't die here, and he's starting to get it. His next step isn't the farm per se. Even Hershel retrieves himself into the house and abandons them.

His next step isn't the farm.

It's Sophia.

He looks at the little girl again and she smiles as she presses herself to Carol, and Rick feels the guilt return. He looks at Carol and she has that knowing look on her face.

Can he do this? And how? How can he reason with the little girl he left behind to die? Will she understand? And what if she doesn't?

He takes a couple of steps back and finds Andrea's hand. He silently begs at her to take him back but he knows she won't. He needs to face this, needs to make peace with these two catastrophic deaths.

He wants to go back to the quarry, but Andrea squeezes his hand and he's forced to look up at the woman in front of him.

"Carol."

She only smiles and looks down at her daughter. "Sophia, honey, go with Andrea."

Slender fingers leave him feeling vulnerable. Rick watches as Andrea smiles at the little girl and reaches for her. "Come on, Sophia." Sophia takes her hand quickly and the two walk off.

As they do his eyes can't help but drift towards the barn. He feels apprehension, then, being here and Sophia being here and the barn standing there, beckoning to him. He feels regret and once again that obsessive wish to turn back time and do it all again, do it right.

When he feels a hand on his arm, he turns to Carol.

"She's even more beautiful than I remember."

Rick nods. "She is." He looks down, trying to gear himself for another confrontation. "She's here, huh?"

"Oddly," Carol says with a big breath. "She's happy here. She likes the horses."

Rick's eyes find Sophia again. She walks with Andrea and the two are talking and smiling. She's got her arm bent across her chest and it only takes him a moment to realize she died holding her doll. It hits him painfully. This is the hardest death to face. She was just a baby.

And he abandoned her.

He feels his eyes moisten but he blinks the tears away.

"Rick, don't do this."

Carol's presence next to him makes him feel even more guilty. He lost her child. He can't imagine what he would do to someone if they were responsible for Carl's death.

He sighs quietly at the mere thought. "I don't know how to tell her how sorry I am."

"You don't have to," Carol tells him tenderly. "She's been here a while, she knows it wasn't your fault."

"How was it not my fault?" he tells her angrily. Why do they keep trying to make him feel better? "I left her behind."

"You didn't kill her, Rick," Carol says.

He huffs drily. "I may as well have."

"Oh, so it's all about you, then," she says, but there is humor and kindness in her tone. He smiles, knowing the Carol in Atlanta wouldn't be this direct. This is how far she's come. She places a hand on his arm and it warms him. "Rick, her death is hers. Not yours. Just like mine is mine. It's not about you."

He gets what she means, but he still can't avoid these feelings. It's selfish, he knows, to take their deaths and personalize them. But he was their leader, he was responsible for their safety. And each time one of them died it felt like he killed them himself.

Especially a little girl who was probably taught her whole life to trust policemen. _Cops protect people_, she was probably told over and over in school. And the first time she trusted a cop to protect her, the cop let her down.

And now he has to deal with both child and mother.

He looks at Carol here, whole and healthy and it occurs to him she can't stop smiling. He reaches for her hand and squeezes it. "And you?"

Carol cocks her head to the side as if the answer is obvious. "Rick, we're happy here. We're safe. I don't have to worry about her being bit, or starving, or getting hurt. Or would you rather send us back to that terrible world?"

He takes the words in and they sink, and he knows what she means. Towards the end the world was such that he'd spend days without sleeping, without eating, giving the little food he found to his children. He wouldn't wish that world upon anyone, much less Carol and Sophia.

"I'm with her all day, I get to play with her, I get to enjoy her, finally," Carol continues. "She's _so_ happy."

Rick smiles and another thought settles upon him, memories that belong back to Atlanta and for the first time he realizes someone who died back in camp is missing. "Is he, uh..."

"He's not here," Carol says.

He doesn't know what to make of the news. He has to admit he feels relief that the two of them aren't haunted by Ed here, but another part wonders where the man could've gone.

It doesn't matter, in the end. What matters is the shine in Carol's eyes and the way her eyes keep finding her daughter. And he realizes then that he can't go back in time, no matter how hard he wishes. But he _can_ find joy in the fact that finally she's with her little girl.

"You look so good."

She looks at him and sighs, crossing her arms. She begins to walk and he follows. "I'm so glad to be out of there," she tells him.

"No offense, but to be honest I didn't think you'd last as long as you did," Rick says.

Carol chuckles. "Ironic, huh?" she says and he agrees. "And then of all the things I thought would kill me, cancer was last on the list. Hell, it wasn't even _on_ the list."

He nearly stops walking, shocked by the revelation, and yet in a way, not. "So it was?"

She nods. "I found out when I got here."

He nods sadly, remembering those final days when her health began to deteriorate and no one knew why. At first they thought it was the flu, then maybe pneumonia. But then hundreds of homemade tests later Dr. Stevens came at them with the theory.

_It looks like cancer. I'm not sure. It could be a million different things. I'm sorry, Rick, I don't know what to tell you. I don't think there's anything I can do, not without the right equipment._

They went wild then, raiding every place they could find, every hospital and pharmacy, trying to find and force upon her medicine, hoping one of them would work. None ever did.

It was painful, losing her like that. Until that moment there were only two types of death - a bite or a bullet. Then she came along and changed the game and instilled yet more fear into their hearts.

Carol made them realize how weak their bodies still were, how vulnerable.

Rick sighs as he remembers and turns to her. "You know I did everything-"

"I know, Rick," she tells him calmly. "It was a death sentence. But I promise it didn't hurt. It was like blinking."

He's not surprised. They just couldn't let her suffer.

He feels her eyes on him and that old familiar sense of protection. She was the mom for so long he forgot how incredible it felt to feel her warmth.

"How've you been?"

Rick sighs, raising his eyebrows. "Million dollar question."

"Hmm," Carol says knowingly, chuckling slightly. "It's hard for some people."

"No," he says. "Just, uh... confusing."

"That, too."

He chuckles halfheartedly and as he does so they pass the biggest tent. He stops walking and looks at it with a longing in his heart.

They were given the big tent because there were three of them. As he looks at it now he remembers the countless nights they spent in there, talking, or not talking at all. Touching or yelling at each other. There was never an in-between.

The farm is memorable because the farm is where they became a family.

But it's also painful because it's where his marriage died a second time.

He doesn't know how many times he's gonna have to go through this. He knows it'll come, eventually, but there's still a need in him. Carol seems to sense it, but he turns to her anyway, feeling ashamed, because in a way he feels this should be about her. But at this point it's become an obsession.

"Listen," he says tiredly. "I know you spent a lot of time with Lori." She doesn't seem angry, she merely smiles. "I saw her that first day... I haven't been able to see her since."

"Have you been talking to Dale?"

He sighs. He doesn't know how many times he's heard that question since he got here. "Not that he's told me much. Amy says it's a process. I don't know what that means."

Carol frowns. "It should make sense at this point. I mean, for you. You were always a determined one."

"Maybe," he says. "I made my peace with everyone at the camp, now I'm here."

"Yeah."

Rick frowns as he thinks about it and tries to put the pieces of the puzzle together before he looks at her again. "Is it like going back? In time?"

"No," Carol says, chuckling. "Not necessarily, it's more like... Making sense of everything?"

He's confused as he looks at her.

Then Carol sighs. "I can't give you specifics, Rick. I had my process, you'll have yours. I'm sorry, I really wish I could tell you how it happens, but it's different for everyone. I can't tell you you're gonna have to deal with an abusive relationship and the regret of losing a daughter, because that never happened to you. I have my luggage; you have yours."

He resigns himself. He needs to be patient, he knows that, Dale has told him that. But he's never been one for patience.

He looks at the tent once again. It even smells like it used to. "I'm guessing she comes here a lot."

"Sometimes," Carol says.

"Why can't I see her?" he asks, once again imploring. A voice in his head begs at him to stop, but he can't help it. She's his wife, his _wife_. He needs to see her. "Is she hiding from me? Did I... do something? Is she mad at me?"

"She's not mad at you," Carol chuckles quietly.

He doesn't see the humor and inches in closer. "Carol, please. I can't do this anymore."

"Rick, please be patient-"

"Don't ask me that," he tells her. "You know I'm not like that. I get that you've all been here for a while, but please," he begs. "Carol, think how hard it was when you got here."

She swallows and looks away, sighing like she wants to help him but knows she shouldn't. He shoots for that. At this point he's desperate.

"It's been ten times harder for me. All these people who died because of me... _Sophia_," He sighs as he feels the heaviness of his own words hit him. His eyes sting, but he blinks the tears away. "I've had to deal with all that," he says. "All I've done since I got here is face people who died because of me and it's killing me. This can't be too much to ask."

"Rick-"

"Carol, just tell me. Please," he begs, watching as her resolution begins to weaken. "Is she... dead? In hell? Why can't I see her?"

Carol merely squints into the horizon and crosses her arms. "It is what it is, Rick."

He huffs impatiently. "_What_ is what it is?"

"Everything," she tells him, bringing her eyes back to his. "Everyone. Everything is the way it's supposed to be here." He can tell she's not done, so he doesn't interrupt her, and then she continues. "All the wrongs from the old life go away. Ed never happened here. Sophia's not a monster. Hershel... he's here all the time. You'd think he never left. He has his two legs. He has his wife."

He nods understandingly, appreciatively for the information, but he wants more and gives her a pressing look.

She shrugs her shoulders and looks down upon the ground. "It's the same with..."

He frowns, waiting for her to continue, but she merely looks aside and looks guilty. He inches closer. "_Carol_."

"It is what it is," she says once again. "With people, too."

He takes the words in and digests them, and he feels like he might know where they're leading, but he's not prepared for her to add,

"Rick, Shane and Lori..."

She doesn't have to finish the sentence, because he gets it quickly. He prepares himself for the gutted feeling to make him nauseous, lurch over and vomit. But oddly enough, it doesn't come. He wants to shake her and tell her she's wrong. He wants to cry, he wants to feel sad, he wants to punch a wall or _shoot_ something. He wants to empty several clips at _anything_. Or he wants to _want_ to do those things.

But the yearning is too far away for him to reach.

What comes instead is a numbness, a flashback. That day, at the farm, when Lori confessed she was with Shane and he was _so_ understanding. _Too_ understanding...

In a way it's the same here.

In his mind he goes back to those fields._ I know. Of course I know._

Of course. _Of course._

Of course she used to smile so brightly whenever Shane visited them on the weekends. Of course Shane went through hell, nearly got himself killed, just to protect her when the outbreak began. Of course they slept together. Of course it always came back to Shane when they argued. Of course Shane tried to kill him.

Of course he did. He stole Shane's soul mate.

He wants to be alive again, so he can feel these feelings he wants to feel. Anger, rage, sadness, grief. But he doesn't feel them. What he feels instead is a sense of understanding. A serenity, a feeling like... he knew, all along, and now... he's finally at peace with it. And when he feels that peace she's no longer his wife. She's Shane's, she always was Shane's.

"Rick, I'm sorry."

It's only then that he realizes he's still with Carol. He looks at her, but shakes his head slightly. "Judith... she's his."

"Yeah," Carol says.

He doesn't need to be here to know that. Judith came into the world with such strength, such a force, that she was all Shane. Her hair, her eyes, her ears, the way she walked. He always knew.

He thinks of Carl and all the times his boy needed him, and how he'd mostly been busy with everything else to tend to him. He thinks of all the times Shane was there for Carl and he wasn't. He thinks how different Judith might be if she had her father.

This is a different type of guilt. This is new and unexpected. If he'd only realized it sooner, he might've stepped aside and let them have each other. Maybe they'd still be alive. Of course they'd be alive. Shane died because he couldn't have Lori, Lori died for her child with Shane, and Judith is growing up without her father.

He knows wherever they are, Carl is probably showing Judith that picture of him and Lori. And Judith is probably pointing at his image and calling him daddy. And he thinks it's unfair, that the father she knew was absent, while her _real_ father would've been there for her obsessively. Shane was like that. Shane was always the better father, even to Carl, the child that wasn't his own.

He swallows hard at the realization. "He died without meeting her."

"Shane's been through a lot," Carol says suddenly and his eyes find hers. "He didn't get here right away. He couldn't explain it. Hershel says it's something like purgatory. I'm not sure I believe it myself, but you don't really question much up here. Or down here. Things just... are."

He nods slowly, casting away his curiosity. He's too convoluted to ask questions, to receive new information. He needs to sit and deal with this. He needs... water.

Yet something inside of him, a force, won't let him slip.

"Is that why I can't see her?" he says numbly. "They're together?"

"You'll see her," Carol says tenderly, nodding slightly. "But they have their places."

Rick sighs, wondering what those places are. He can't dwell on it too much. He doesn't want to think that Lori was unfaithful to him before the outbreak. He can't.

"In the beginning you go through a lot," Carol explains further. "But then once the process ends you stick with the ones you love. I spend all my time with Sophia. I can't let her go. I'm guessing you haven't seen your parents?"

He shakes his head slowly. His parents. God, he doesn't know how he'll face that. "No."

"Parents are usually the last stage," she explains. "When you get there you'll be spending most of your time with them, with your family. I mean, if you had a good relationship with them. You kinda tend to stick with the ones you love."

He looks down. He knows she's being gentle and she's trying to make him feel better, but all he wants to do is go to bed. This is exhausting and it's eating away at his energy. And he's barely just starting. How will he deal with the rest?

"Mommy?"

Sophia's voice breaks the spell and they both turn to her. She stands near them, alone, making a displeased face like she's annoyed.

"Honey, I told you to stay with Andrea," Carol tells her.

"She's gone."

Rick frowns, standing taller. He feels it in Carol, too. He doesn't know what the feeling is. It's a mutual concern that goes unspoken between them. "Gone where?"

Sophia merely shrugs her shoulders. "We walked over there," she points at a spot near the stables. "Then she disappeared."

Carol sighs, looking down and away and Rick sees guilt in her eyes. Sensing the question in his mind, she looks at him. "That's where she saved me."

Rick follows her eyes and it dawns upon him quickly. That night was a blur, and he never got the chance to set things straight on Earth. She was gone too quickly after their reunion. But he remembers Michonne's words now.

_She said she waved at you but you drove away._

It hits him heavily and he doesn't know why it leaves him so troubled. But the words escape him without his knowledge. "That's where I left her."

Carol doesn't offer him words of comfort. He needs to take a moment to let it sink in. He does, maybe because he wants to, or maybe because he needs to. Because it's better to re-focus his attention to someone else and not have to deal with everything he's just learned. But he doesn't want to believe he's selfish enough to use Andrea as a distraction. Because there _is_ something wrong and he can't ignore it any longer. He thinks of the quarry and wonders if she's there.

The moment he envisions the water, he can feel the pull coming for him.

But he fights it.

And as he looks at Sophia another question pops into his head. "Weren't you holding her hand?"

"Yeah," Sophia says.

He grows confused as he remembers the last time he almost lost her. All he had to do was hold her hand and she came back. He frowns at the little girl. "She still vanished?"

Sophia merely shrugs her shoulders and runs back to the stables.

Rick looks to Carol, wondering what this means. But Carol seems clueless, unaware of his confusion and the source of it. Then he thinks of Jim, Amy, Jacqui, Carol, Dale, and Sophia. He thinks of 'the process' and what Carol said: make sense of everything. He thinks how easy it's been with them. He's talked to them all; they've all been understanding, they all rest in peace. They don't vanish on him, they merely accept things and help him move on. All of them.

He lets the pull take him away when he knows, then.

No. Not _all_ of them.

It dawns upon him.

He still has unfinished business with Andrea.

to be continued


	7. Chapter 7

"You know, if you're gonna give someone a ride somewhere it's only polite to give them a ride back."

Andrea looks up and smiles, and he notices right away how tired she looks. "I'm sorry," she tells him, maybe even a little embarrassed. "She wanted to see the horses. She's just a kid; I didn't wanna scare her."

Rick scrutinizes her and knows right away something's off. But he doesn't want to be aggressive about it. True, he didn't spend much time with Andrea when they were alive. But they spent enough time together for him to know she never responded well to ultimatums.

"It's okay." He sits at the log beside her with a heavy sigh. His eyes find her hands; they are resting at her knees neatly. "Are you alright?"

She nods too eagerly and smiles as she looks at him. "You talked to Carol?"

Rick doesn't miss the blatant attempt at changing the subject, but he remembers his reunion with Carol, then, and everything he learned. Time seems irrelevant here. Yet somehow he feels like he doesn't get enough of it. Everything is happening too fast and all at once. He's not allowed _time_, time to think, time to grieve or deal with everything he learns.

It might be his own fault, he thinks, because he's so thirsty for knowledge. But the farm has left him exhausted and he just wants to sit here and take a break.

And he still needs to come to grips with what Carol told him.

In a way, being a man, he feels ashamed. It's the caveman in him, he thinks, bruised because he lost a woman to another man. But he's also human, and right now all he needs is a friend. And as he looks at Andrea he wonders if she needs one, too.

He doesn't want to put her on the spot.

So he puts himself on the spot instead, hoping to earn her trust.

"She told me about Lori."

Andrea presses her lips together and looks at him apologetically. "God. I'm sorry, Rick."

"You knew?" She merely nods and looks at the water. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't think it was my place," she says, honestly. "Carol knew Lori better. She knew you better."

Another thought enters his mind and it leaves him feeling dread. "Does _everyone_ know?"

She cringes slightly then, like she's the last person who wants to answer the question. But he doesn't need her to.

"Great," he groans, feeling ashamed, wondering what they're saying, what they're thinking. His shame ten-folds as his head drops and he wishes he could sleep, for an hour, or maybe a lifetime.

"No one thinks anything of it," Andrea tells him gently.

He shakes his head in disbelief. This place, he wonders if he'll ever make sense of it. And the process. He's starting to develop a hatred for the word. He thinks of Lori, too, wondering where that leaves her. Will she be one of the last ones? He doesn't know, yet somehow gets the feeling it won't be her death he'll have to come to terms with when they meet.

He's not ready for it, he knows that. However much he wants to speed the process, the prospect of meeting Lori, especially now, leaves him heavy hearted. He feels like he failed her, failed himself, failed Carl and Judith and the vows he took before God. He always knew, deep down, if he looked inside himself he could've found it. But he chose to blind himself and allowed the unsightliness to engulf her, too.

Rick sighs as he looks at the water. Its usual calming effects don't reach him. "You'd think she would've told me herself."

"It's not like that. It would've been worse if you'd heard it from Lori. You wouldn't have believed her," Andrea says. "There's some things here that you face on your own, but with other things... sometimes you need a bridge. Carol was your bridge."

He nods, though a part of him still feels resentment. Lori should've told him herself, she's his wife...

Except she's not. Not anymore. It's hard to accept, hard to swallow, but after a long silence he knows she's right. He wouldn't have accepted it if it came from Lori. She would've tried to reason with him, convince him, but he wouldn't have believed it. They would've yelled at each other, hurt each other, kill their relationship and parts of themselves all over again. It was always like that on Earth. She always knew more than he did. She knew when it was time to fight and eventually time to let go.

He never caught on. He was a bull at the sight of red. Never stopping, never relenting. Always consumed by a furious need to go, go, _go_, when they only need to stop.

"Are you okay?"

He nods again at her concern and as he stares at the water he tries to make sense of it. "I just feel..." It's bad that he can't feel it, even worse that he can't verbalize it. "I don't know." The internal struggle leaves him as his shoulders sag. "We were married for so long."

"I know," Andrea tells him.

He feels the sympathy in her voice and knows, somehow feels their regrets tangle. They may not have had similar losses, but it's their regrets, their should've beens, that bind them in that moment. And he realizes that they're both at a standstill, too, at least in this place. And maybe always.

Then he thinks about what Carol said, _everything is right here_, and he hangs on to those words and tries to extricate some strength from each one of those letters. Because if everything is right it means everything _will_ be right for him, eventually.

It wasn't always like this for him. It's something he learned from the new world. Before the turn, he was the proverbial Charlie Brown with his shitty disposition stuck in a tree. Strangely, the death of the world was the birth of the new Rick, who had to learn to rely on the next minute, the next hour, the next tomorrow. The dead world taught him that surrender, or even the mere thought of it, brought with it death. One pause. One blink. One negative thought - and that was it.

He saw proof of it in the ones that neared the darkness and were too cautious of the light. He saw it in Jim, who let the hopelessness take the fight from him. He saw it in little scared Sophia, who clutched her doll so tight one day the darkness took them both. He saw it in T-Dog, who saw him and the group lose their humanity and died clutching his own. He saw it in Lori, who spent the last 9 months of her life weary of a pregnancy that maybe she knew all along would kill her. He saw it in Andrea, who took the future years of her life and crushed them down into just about enough days worth of energy to save them all.

He accepts it. _It is what it is._ He has to. He's learn to. The dead world taught him how. It is what it is. He can't argue with anybody about it. He can't sue God... or whoever owns this place. He can't kill Shane again. He can't fight for his marriage. She's not his and that's that.

"So," he hears himself say and a silence stretches. He feels Andrea next to him, perhaps waiting for a response or maybe not even hearing him. But it is what it is. Even thoughts and words. Feelings, too. He feels an urge, a rightness, to express them. "So much for that whole soulmate crap."

Andrea chuckles and shrugs her shoulders. "Oh, I don't know," she says. "Maybe she's still back on Earth? Or maybe some people are just meant to be alone. I mean, what about nuns?"

He half smiles at the thought. Nuns, children, priests... then, maybe, it doesn't matter. Maybe some people are just meant to be alone. The thought isn't as depressive as it ought to be. After a lifetime, and partly an afterlife, of heartache, the thought of loneliness is alluring. With a shrug of his shoulders (because it's been too long a day and he can't afford more emotional investment) he turns to Andrea. "What about you?"

"No," she says quickly. "Amy, though. She went to high school with him," Andrea smiles. "I remember him. They never even went out on a date; he was always too scared to ask. Now they're practically inseparable."

"I was wondering where she was off to."

Andrea smirks. "She's my baby sister. I'd rather not think about that."

He smiles as he looks at her. She's so beautiful, always was, that he can't imagine anything less than adorers coming in hordes to fight for her affections. "There has to be an old flame. An old friend?"

"Honestly, Rick, that's the least of my concerns," Andrea says quickly.

He nods slowly, knowing how right she is and watches as her demeanor changes, her aura becomes darker. He thinks of the farm and what happened. He doesn't want to be aggressive, he doesn't want to push or pry. He wants to be as delicate as he can. But he also needs to make his peace with her. It's about time. Andrea died before Carol, after all. It's long overdue.

"What's going on, Andrea?" He turns to her to study her reaction, but she merely looks down as if she's willingly blocking his words. This doesn't surprise him. Andrea was always difficult. "You used to love that farm."

She shakes her head then and her brows furrow slightly. "I can't stand it there."

He can't help recoiling and rejecting the slight bitterness in her tone. That farm was their first heaven, their first real home. They found family there. Happiness. "Why?"

She doesn't answer him right away and he wonders if he's pushed too far. But nothing happens. Her breathing is even and she's solid sitting next to him. He waits, letting her decide if she wants to talk or not. His own experiences here have been too overwhelming. Still, he feels an itchiness inside of him, a want to push even though he knows he shouldn't. It's in the tip of his fingers and it starts to spread in.

It's like he's starving and there's a feast right in front of him. He wants to grab at her, shake her, eat all the words until he feels full. He doesn't because he knows he would feel like shit afterwards, but the need is strong.

Finally, she shakes her head and looks at the ground. "When we got there and I learned how to shoot... I was so good at it." Her hair covers the side of her face and he wonders if it's deliberate. She doesn't seem to know how to continue, but it's in her nature to always finish what she starts. She's bullheaded like that. Moments later she shrugs her shoulders and her eyes stay on her fingers.

There is something about this place, or maybe the people in it. He was never that good at reading people before the turn. And after the turn he became such a cold, calculating killer that he further lost touch with people. Even his children learned quickly to detach themselves from him. It wasn't ideal. But it ensured survival. Too much mourning killed you. Too much emotional attachment turned you into meat. Carl learned that lesson before him.

This is new, though. The way he can feel their emotions. When something in them changes he feels it inside. He feels it now when Andrea bites down hard, her jaw setting with determination. But there is sadness in it, too. And more. But he's still too new to know what.

Finally she shrugs her shoulders and with that little motion he feels as if she's unplugged herself from him, and he no longer feels her.

"I really thought I was going to make it."

He smiles sadly. _Didn't we all_, he wonders? But it's different. And then he realizes every single one of them has talked about how glad they are to be here. Except for her.

"I thought you were, too."

Andrea smiles appreciatively and looks to the water. "I've been trying to deal with it," she says, and it's the first and last honest thing she tells him before she shakes her head quickly as a deflection. "I don't know. But there's people from my life I haven't been able to see, so who knows."

"Old boyfriends?" he teases to ease the moment.

She merely smiles and huffs. "Old friends, old co-workers. My parents."

Rick gives her an encouraging look. "Maybe they're alive."

"No," she says quickly and her smile wilts. "Amy sees them. And I think... I think sometimes they see me, but I can't see them."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

She's honest when she says that, he can feel it. But he finds it odd. Everyone seems to have answers. Everyone seems to have it together. He feels that bond strengthen, but it's a knot that leaves him somewhat troubled.

"You've been here a long time," he says as he thinks about everything Carol told him. What Dale told him. Andrea died shortly after Lori. He frowns as he looks at her and asks, "Why don't you just go home?"

"I like it here," she says, and not for the first time, he thinks.

"I forgot how beautiful it was," Rick grants her.

He looks around the area and he can't blame her. It's so quiet, so remote, so peaceful that even he finds himself coming back. It's serene, it's lulling, like being asleep and dreaming of flying. After their last terrible moments on Earth he can't blame her for always being here.

But it's not living, he thinks. Not that they're alive, but... there has to be more to this place, to her process. More than a man made lake and old rocks.

"I remember the day after you came back, Amy and I went fishing," she continues and he listens and pays attention to her movements. There's a genuine smile on her face. The knot tightens. "That was our thing with our dad. I must've spent half my childhood on a boat. We promised Carl we'd teach him, but that night Amy..."

He looks at her, and something within her changes. Her smile shrinks, she looks down, and her breathing deepens slightly. He knows what's gonna happen now; it doesn't take a genius.

Rick reaches for her hand quickly and it stops.

Her eyebrows arc sorrowfully as she looks at their threaded fingers. He can tell she's troubled by this, like his hand in hers means something terrible. He doesn't know what it means, himself, but he knows it means something. And whatever it is, he is involved and it's affecting him as well. Why else is he always finding himself back here?

As he holds her hand he inches closer to her on the log and his eyes try to find hers, but her head ducks. It doesn't stop him. The meek, Officer Friendly in Atlanta was nothing like the fierce, no-nonsense killer he was at the end. Officer Friendly avoided all kinds of personal confrontation. The Killer thrived on it.

"I want to talk about this," he says, settling his tone between a suggestion and an order.

"I don't," she matches him.

His whole demeanor changes and he becomes that cold leader she never got to meet.

"Well, here's the thing, I've got your hand and whatever it is that happens, I know you don't like it."

It doesn't work, he knows, when she tugs slightly on her hand. He realizes, then, that Andrea wouldn't have taken the bullshit of his later days. Had she survived, she would've given him hell. So his voice settles on a gentler tone as he reminds himself to be patient.

"I also get the feeling this doesn't work with Dale and Amy, because it didn't work with Sophia."

"Sophia's just a kid," she says defensively.

"She was someone important to you," he adds. She looks away and he remembers she always did this. She always looked away when she knew she had lost an argument. These days, she's looking away a lot, he realizes. And it makes him feel more confident in his prodding. "And I also get the feeling that if I let go you'll disappear. So the least you could do is answer my questions."

Andrea's eyebrows furrow angrily as she looks at him. "Is that an ultimatum?" she says authoritatively and he can see the old lawyer in her re-surfacing.

"No," he says, and knows he's hit a delicate spot but it's out there now. "I wanna help."

"Why?" she she says quickly, shaking her head at him, her old stubborn attitude returning. "You don't owe me anything. You went to the farm on your own, you know. You could've gone without me."

"So why did you come along?"

She looks down, away, and huffs, hoping he'll take that as a sign of annoyance rather than vulnerability. Because the truth is she doesn't want to tell him she only went because she didn't want to lose the feel of his hand. Or that as soon as they got there and she lost it and faced that spot, she vanished and was taken right back to the house. And now she's here, and she doesn't know if she's here because she's strong, or because he's holding her hand. She wants to believe the former, she wants desperately to believe she's strong. But there's a fear inside her, telling her that if she lets go of his hand in the stressful state she's currently in, they'll take her.

They've been taking her too often lately and she doesn't know what that means but it can't be good, not when she wakes up tired and tired and even more tired each time.

He squeezes her fingers and leans a little closer. She inches away. "Where do you go?"

She sighs quietly, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his intense gaze. And so tired she can't even think. And angry. God, so _angry_ that he's _doing_ this to her. But she can't run in this place. Whoever made it, whoever is in charge... they've beaten her time and time again and she can't lie here. She can't cover everything up, she can't escape. She can deflate, that's the most they allow her. She tries now.

"I don't know."

It's not enough for him. That bit still hasn't changed. It's never enough with Rick.

"Yes, you do. Because I know you don't like going there, so it has to be an actual place," Rick says authoritatively, pressing on her hand hard and she wishes she could press back harder and obliterate him. "Don't lie to me, Andrea."

Deflate. It's the only break they allow her. And she deflates, and deflates, and deflates so much that the drift ten-folds and she's already going.

Rick watches her, and he knows he's pushing her, but he also knows he has the upper hand. So to speak. As she takes a moment he watches her and he can tell she hates him so much right now that if she had her gun she'd kill him a second time.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and looks aside. He can tell right away she feels ashamed. He doesn't see it on her face but he feels it in her hand, like she can somehow transfer that feeling to him. He was ready to deal with the anger, with the hatred, with the sadness. But this shame is new and troubling. Andrea never showed shame. Not ever. Even when they all stood around her with reproach, all of them silently shaming her for her relationship with the Governor, she always stood tall. Proud. Never an ounce of shame in her.

Not so much anymore.

He realizes then he's broken his promise. He tried not to push, to thread the waters delicately. It spins him into a place of unknowing, and though he still has the upper hand he fears he's not using it properly.

When she doesn't reply he adds, much more gently, "Andrea."

She takes a deep breath and instead of looking at the water, as she normally would, she looks down to let her hair cover her face. He waits a few moments, wondering if she'll actually answer him, and when she finally does it's barely audible and full of anger.

"A house."

Rick's eyebrows furrow at the new information. Alarm bells sound off in the distance and he foolishly ignores them. "Whose house?"

She lets out an irritated sigh and quickly takes a deep breath. It's like part of her wants to let go while another part wants to fight. But the fighter is losing that battle. He can see it in the slowly gathering moisture in her eyes.

"I don't know."

"Is there someone there?"

She exhales. Then something comes alive, suddenly, and she tugs once more. But something else takes over again. He empathizes with the duality. Part of him wants to stop, to just let her be. Another part, a stronger part, is screaming at him to push her. Push her more.

He grips her fingers.

"Just me."

He nods slowly, remembering the farm and the CDC. "Can you take me there?"

"No!"

Rick jumps back as she snaps, and he has to look at his hand to make sure it hasn't turned into fire and burned her. She finally looks at him and he can see the red in her eyes, the disbelieving look on her face that tells him he's crossed a terrible line.

She feels so violated by the mere implication that she stands up quickly, trying to extricate her hand from his. She doesn't want to go back to the house, but she'd rather do just that than get poked and prodded like this, like she's a damn criminal being interrogated.

She pulls, but he doesn't let go and it makes her feel even more caged. Andrea looks at him angrily and starts feeling agitated. "You shouldn't ask questions."

Rick frowns at her, aghast by her reaction. "Why not?"

"Because," she says stubbornly, like an overwhelmed child. Her eyes begin to flood. "It is what it is."

He only feels anger when he hears that _once again_. And it makes everything worse. "Says who?"

She takes another step away from him but he doesn't let go. "Dale."

_Of course_, Rick thinks angrily. Anger that blinds him and then he's not himself anymore. "Who's Dale to make the rules?"

"I don't know," Andrea cries, trying to pull her hand out of his and almost succeeds, but his other hand circles her wrist. "Rick, let me _go!_"

He tries to pull her towards him instead, feeling her agitation and his own heart accelerating to a point beyond turning back. "What's Dale got to do with this?"

Her face is wet and red, her body so desperate to get away from him she doesn't even seem to be hearing him anymore. "Please."

Officer Friendly tries to ring alarm bells in his head, telling him to let her go. Officer Friendly would be so good at this, so calm, so caring and soothing. But The Killer seems to have control of the body and won't let him go another minute without answers. Answers that he needs for himself, for _her_.

Why can't she understand that? _I'm trying to **help** you._

"What, is he God?"

"I don't _know,_" she whimpers, and finally twists her hand free of his, taking several steps back.

Something in his chest snaps as he seems to come to wake and witness what's just happened. The realization lags him, his legs aren't quick enough, and she's gone before he can reach her again.

A lifetime hits him in the span of a second. Everything that happened comes to him in a flash and an exhaustion claims him. It's both emotional and physical and he has to take a step back to brace himself. And this is the worst kind of confusion he's felt since his death. Even a slight nausea claims him as he tries to find a pattern to his breathing. But he can't, he can't breathe. He can't think of anything other than what he's forced.

And suddenly he can't accept it. Agitated, he turns around, looking for her. But she's nowhere in sight. He looks up to the camp but it's empty. He doesn't see it whole, not from down in the quarry. But he doesn't feel a single soul up there. He's not strong yet, too ashamed to even call out her name.

He feels his pulse quick, his hands shake. He's caught between exhaustion and a frustrating exhilaration at what's just happened. He paces, waiting, knowing - he should not have pushed her like that. It was never his intention. But he's so tired and so wild with grief and confusion that he let his emotions overtake him.

As his breathing evens, he sits by the log. She has to come back, she always does. She's always here. It's something about the water, he theorizes. She grew up in Florida, spent half her childhood on a boat. The water must make her feel calm, at peace.

She'll come back.

But then nothing happens. Hours (or what seems like hours, then days) pass and she doesn't return. He goes to the farm, even goes to the CDC, but she's in neither of those places. No one is. He calls out to them, but no one appears to him. He wonders with dreadful fear if he's done something terrible. He wonders if they know. And he starts to fear, because if he doesn't make peace with Andrea, how will he continue with his process?

And then: to hell with his process. To hell with it when he waits and waits and she doesn't show up. To hell with it when he's left alone even by the rest of them.

A darkness comes, but it's not sleep. It's like a black mist that appears at the other side of the quarry and passes him like gentle breeze. It's not a new day, he knows there are no days here. It's not sleep, nor rest, nor time. It's like a drunkenness, like he folds into himself for several hours. And when it's gone he feels its hangover hit him heavily.

And she's still not here.

His voice is still hoarse from calling her name and knowing it's futile, he doesn't try again. But he tries inside. He tries picture her and find her, somehow silently call her. But it doesn't work.

And then he feels a presence and he can't deal with this again. He shakes his head, looking down. He feels so old.

"If you're here to confuse me even more then you can go ahead and keep moving. I'm done with your bullshit."

Dale smiles as he walks up and sits next to Rick in front of the water.

"Rough day?"

Rick turns to him with an incredulous smile? "Rough _day_?" He chuckles sardonically. "I only just found out my wife, who I thought was the love of _my_ life, turned out to be my best friend's. Every time I see someone new it's like being gutted. I still have no idea where I am or what this is supposed to be. I have no idea what I'm doing, and Andrea..." Rick sighs. He wonders how long she's been gone. He wonders what happens to her when she is.

Nothing good, he knows. Why else would she fight it? And he sent her there. He made it happen.

It makes the soulful hangover worsen. "I don't know what's wrong with her, but I think I made it worse and I don't know how to fix it."

Yet instead of giving him an understanding, or even a pitiful, look, Dale merely smiles at the water. As Rick's breathing evens Dale waits, and when minutes pass the old man looks at him.

"Do you know why I couldn't see that damn RV for so long?"

Rick looks down, gearing himself up for another emotional punch. He wants to go, he wants to disappear. He wants to stop existing. He's so tired he can barely shake his head at Dale.

Dale sympathizes with him, Rick can feel it. The old man isn't an enemy, he knows. He's just trying to help him.

And Dale then nods at the water, knowing. "I couldn't face my wife's death."

Rick looks at him then, feeling a connection pass between them. His mind goes back to the prison and all those days he walked around in a hazy agony, seeing Lori in every corner. The grief was so heavy he lost his mind, for days, and nothing the others could do or say helped. He imagines it must've been much the same, or worse, for Dale, who was alone with no children to give him love and support. He feels the agony just thinking about it.

That's when he finally makes his peace with Dale.

The old man continues without saying anything about it. It passes between them, but it doesn't linger.

"But I knew I had to come to terms with it. You know what part of my process was?"Dale says and Rick listens. "They made me relive it." He tells him and the pain in his eyes is visible. "I had to sit by her bed and watch her die in pain all over again. Breast cancer is a monster, Rick. Carol's cancer... I'm not saying she was lucky. But she had the sense to ask Daryl to put a bullet to her head once she knew what she was in for. Irma lay in agony for months and there was nothing I could do but hold her hand."

Rick looks down as he tries to imagine the scene, and for the first time feels lucky that he wasn't there to watch Lori die. Sometimes, back on Earth, he wished he had been there, to hold her hand and press her to him and tell her everything would be okay. But then other times he considered himself lucky, that he didn't have to be there to see her last breath escape her lips. He always felt terribly guilty and selfish thinking that; he _should_ have been there. But the universe knew what it was doing that day, because if he had been there, he would've put a bullet to his head and ended his life with hers.

"When I came here, I couldn't move on from that damn camp," Dale continues. "I felt trapped. Unlike you, I knew what I had to do. I knew Irma was the key. I just couldn't bring myself to... watch her die all over again and accept that there was nothing I could've done."

He looks away as he thinks of his process and everything he's had to face, and once again, just like in life, Dale makes him see.

"Rough day, Rick," Dale says with a smile. "Now you know about Lori, now you know about the farm, you made your peace with Sophia. But you just got here, and you've come this far. You're one of the lucky ones."

Lucky. He almost sneers at the word.

But then he mulls the words over and wonders about the others. As calm as she is now, he wonders what it must've been like for Carol, to have to face Sophia's death after all the guilt she suffered on Earth. He wonders how much it took each of them. The early ones must've gone through it faster. The later ones must've taken their time. Yet they've all forced on and Dale's words make sense again.

He knows who the unlucky ones are.

He looks around the quarry and it's still empty. He wonders how long he's waited. He wonders if he's waiting in vain.

"What's going on with her?" His voice is low and raspy with exhaustion. He doesn't have to embellish. Not that he could, with the little information he has.

Dale follows Rick's eyes and Rick feels his heaviness where this topic is concerned. He felt it in Amy, too.

"Andrea can't accept that she's here," Dale says and something clicks. It hits him like heavy bricks and makes him feel even worse. What he did... pushing her like that... suddenly he wishes he could slap himself.

"It's easy for most of us. We accept that we died and that's when everything falls into place." Dale stops and smiles. "Irma thinks it's a lot like birth. Dying, I mean. Some babies come early, some come right on time, but some refuse to be born and the doctors have to cut them out. She thinks it's the same with death."

Rick fails to see the humor in the situation, but feels he might know what Dale means. It's a recent but distant memory. "She's," he says, thoughtfully, remembering Jacqui's words, "like Jenner?"

Dale looks at him and it's the first time he's had one up on the guy. "Did you see him?"

"No."

"You probably won't," Dale says in a low tone sprinkled with regret. "He still hasn't forgiven himself for locking us up at the CDC. Or for losing his wife. He can't seem to deal with it, that guilt. Only Jacqui sees him. It's a shame."

Rick nods slowly as he tries to understand. But he doesn't, not fully. He can't find any similarities between Jenner and Andrea...

Except suicide. Is that it? Could that be it? Are they being punished, somehow? He remembers vague sermons in church, old people preaching about suicide being a sin. He never thought so himself. But truthfully, he never knew someone who had tried. He had no opinion on it one way or the other, but if there's Andrea and there's Jenner... it's the only thing that links them.

He turns to Dale and tries to communicate the thought, but the words that come out are different. "Is that why she's always alone?"

Dale shrugs. "She has Amy, just like Jenner has his wife," the old man explains. "She has good days. It was harder in the beginning"

In the beginning. He tires to imagine. Amy, Dale, Jim, Sophia, Lori... Shane. It must've been those people who greeted Andrea when she passed. People of conflict. People of deep, emotional turmoil. People she knew in a world of chaos and death, who, themselves, died without peace. It's another piece of the puzzle, but he doesn't know where to put it.

He nods slowly. "Doesn't seem easy now."

Dale smiles a smile that takes him back to those first days. Those days when there was so much turmoil and conflict within the group. Those days when sometimes, when he was at a loss, all he had to do was find Dale's smile and then he knew he'd be fine.

But there's more sadness to that smile now, as Dale looks at the white pebbles.

"Shane was like that for a long time, too," he explains and Rick feels a heaviness weigh him down at the mere mention of his best friend's name. He wants to turn back now, but Dale is suddenly in a chatty mood and Rick can't find his voice.

Dale continues. "When he came through he couldn't see anyone. I felt him and reached for him. He was stuck for a very long time. He only started to come around when Lori came through."

He feels the knife twist in his heart and he can't do anything but bite down hard on his jaw and remain silent.

"I'm sorry, Rick," Dale apologizes, but Rick doesn't find the empathy in the old man's tone. And then he remembers again. It is what it is. And then he knows Dale is not sorry, because Dale, more than anyone, gets that. Fate is fate no matter where they are or how much they wanna fight it.

He wants to be mad, but he can't. The words leave him easily. "Me too." He looks down and sighs. He wants to take everything out on Dale. It's a constant urge. But Officer Friendly holds him back each time. Maybe because once, in the before, Officer Friendly and Dale used to be the greatest of friends. And he needs a friend.

He shrugs his shoulders as he gives in to that need. "Thing is," he rasps, letting Friendly do the talking as the Killer takes a backseat. "I don't know how to be sad about it, you know?"

Dale nods.

"And I know I should be. I should be _pissed._"

The old man smiles. "You're smarter than that. You're catching on quickly."

"I don't know why," Rick mumbles. "Doesn't seem fair."

Dale nods understandingly. "It's tough on Amy."

The sentence seems unfinished but Rick doesn't need to hear Dale say it's been tough on him, too. Dale always spent so much of his time on Earth trying to save Andrea, trying to rescue her from herself, it must be equally frustrating not to be able to do something for her up here, too.

"I don't get it."

"I'm not sure any one of us does. I don't even know if she does," Dale says. "When she has good days she's around all the time. But then sometimes... something snaps and she goes somewhere. It used to happen to Shane. Jenner, too."

His head is fogged with too much information and too many feelings, and all he can do is nod. He can't dwell or even begin to wonder if, why, or how Shane went through the same thing Andrea is going through. It's too much, too much. He wants to sleep, to close his eyes, rest. But he can't. Most of him is urging on too often without his consent. Know more, move more. It's a hunger that doesn't leave him. It's draining the life out of him. But he doesn't know how to need less.

It leaves him desperate once again for straight answers.

And it's all on Dale. Andrea talked about a bridge. Carol was his bridge to finding out about Lori. But Dale... Dale has to be a bridge to everything else.

"You seem to know more than anyone around here."

Dale smiles. "I know some things."

Rick chuckles slightly, humorlessly, as he looks at the quarry but then turns to Dale with narrowed, determined eyes and all pretenses gone. "Who are you?"

The old man chortles. "Rick, I'm Dale."

"Drop it," he spits. "Even back then you always seemed to be on our shoulders."

Dale smiles with amusement. "You think I'm an angel?"

"I think you were down there for a reason."

"Everyone was."

"But _you_, especially." His eyes narrow and he resents the shit eating grin Dale gives him, but Rick doesn't stop. He feels the spin again, taking him somewhere crazy. And he wonders once again if this is a dream, or if he's drunk. "Are you?"

Dale looks at him. "Am I what, Rick?"

"An angel." The second the words leave him he feels ridiculous, but Ridiculous might be the name of this place. He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. "Or God, or... whatever."

Dale chuckles. "You've seen the dead come to life. Why is it that you feel the idea of God is ridiculous."

Rick frowns and knows this is just another riddle. Dale is good at that. Raising questions while trying to give answers. He doesn't have the patience for it anymore. "Why?"

"There's no such thing as angels," Dale says. "And I can assure you, Rick: I'm _not_ God."

"So..."

Dale shifts in place and Rick feels right away he's about to be punched again. "Some of us have been around a long time. We're born and we die and then we're born again."

Rick nods. "So all that shit about reincarnation was real."

"I wouldn't call it reincarnation. Not everyone goes back," Dale says and then smiles reassuringly. "Don't be alarmed, but Carl is one, too. That's why he's so grown up at such a small age."

Rick is left with an unknown feeling at the revelation. His son always knew more than him. That was true. Carl was wise even as a baby. He matured when the rest of them stayed innocent. He came into the world and the second Rick looked at him, he saw right away that Carl knew something he didn't. He briefly wondered how many of them were like that. Dale, Carl. The people who were and are wise despite their years. He knows right away he's not one of them.

"You get the hang of it after a few rounds," Dale continues and Rick has to mentally jug to catch on. "This time around, I went to two wars. I fought, and I saw death and I should've died in those fields. I was always weak, slow. But I didn't. I was in two car accidents. Both cars totaled. But I never died. After a while it became clear. I knew what I needed to do, why I was down there, why my wife died before I did. I knew why I survived the outbreak."

He can't help seeing Dale in a new light, suddenly. All bitterness and resent him leaves him and he knows right away he's going to need Dale. Maybe more than anyone else. But then, it doesn't surprise him. Dale left a hole in his heart that was never replaced.

"Why?"

Dale smiles that knowing smile again. "I didn't know which sister it was. When Amy died it became obvious," he explains. "That's why I couldn't leave her at the CDC."

Rick stays quiet as he tries to digest the information. Andrea. Instinctively, he looks around again. She's not back. And he feels it in his heart: she won't be back. Not for a long time. And it's all because of him.

Jenner, Shane, Andrea... if Dale and Carl are the old souls, Rick wonders where that leaves Shane and Andrea. He wonders why they seem destined for turmoil, both alive and here. It doesn't seem fair.

That day at the CDC... all she asked for. All she ever prayed for was that she wouldn't die being devoured.

That's exactly how she died.

He feels a pang of anger as he turns to Dale again. "She would've died peacefully. She wouldn't be like this."

"If she'd died at the CDC everything would've been different. Worse," Dale says with an angry determination that takes Rick back to those early Randall days. "She wasn't done."

Rick nods angrily. "Was that her choice? Or yours."

"It was fate's choice," Dale says and the anger ten-folds. "Or whatever you wanna call it. God, Buddha, the earth, destiny, aliens... it was just what needed to be done."

What needed to be done. He sneers at the thought.

"I had to make her change that... _view_ that you all had," Dale continues. "That _kill or be killed_ mentality. Death destroyed half the world and you were going to kill the other half by murdering each other."

He presses down on his jaw hard. It sounds like bullshit. It even smells like bullshit. And he doesn't know why it makes him so angry. "Why Andrea? Why not... Maggie."

"Because she's a fighter and she had no one, and when you're a fighter and you have no one, you fight for everyone," Dale says.

And though Rick hears the words he doesn't want to digest them. He doesn't want to think that some of them were mere ploys, toys. He can't. He remembers covering her body with a blanket. He remembers carrying her back to the car. He remembers rejecting Daryl's assistance. Her weight was HIS weight to carry. He remembers burying her.

And for what?

"Maggie gave up the prison for Glenn, didn't she?" Dale adds. "Maggie would rather see everyone dead than see Glenn die. And the world doesn't need... just _Glenn_.

He doesn't bother saying anything, and wishes he could block out most of the words. If Dale senses this, he doesn't say anything. That's Dale. You don't ever get what you want from Dale. But when Dale wants to give, he gives all.

"I had to make her see it," the old man adds. "That the world is still worth living in. I had to make sure she always knew that people are... _good_, Rick."

He almost laughs. Good. People are good. He doesn't remember them being good towards the end.

Dale continues, unaware. Or maybe aware and willing to ignore it. "When she finally agreed with me about Randall I knew I'd done my job. I went into that field to die, so I could finally be with Irma."

Rick frowns and feels the accusation leave him quickly. "You opted out?"

"No, I just decided to come home," Dale says. "My job was done. I did what I had to do, so that when she died, you would see it, too. And you did, didn't you?"

_See_, he thinks. See what? Just another dead friend. Just another loss. Just another reminder that their days were numbered. What else was there to see?

But Dale is one up ahead. "Andrea's death made you realize you need to fight for the world, not just for yourself. And you passed that on, when you died. You passed it on to Glenn. And he'll pass it on to someone else, and so on, until civilization returns."

He shifts in place and feels so exhausted he just wants a time out. A break. This is all too much. Too much information. He wants to laugh. Information is all he's wanted. And now that he has it... it's knocking him right off his center.

He shakes his head in defeat. "Dale, just-"

"It's not fighting that's going to save the world, Rick," Dale interrupts as if he couldn't hear him. "It's humanity. It _had_ to start with Andrea."

He bites down hard again and he doesn't know if it's the guilt or the bitterness, but he feels a pressure in his throat. "She had to die for that. That's not fair."

Dale smiles. "Whoever said life was fair was probably on top of the world."

"We're not alive anymore, Dale," Rick says accusingly.

"I told you she's a fighter. She'll fight."

There's so much positivism in Dale's tone that Rick suddenly can't help thinking the old man is a fool. "You think she's fighting? What's happening to her, do you call that a fair fight?"

It's twice that he feels he's had one up on Dale, because the old man doesn't seem to know how to answer. And it makes him crazy. Crazy that this world is just as bullshit as the old one. Crazy that they were sent here to rest, yet nothing about it feels like peace.

And when Dale, the Answers Guy, suddenly finds himself mute, Rick can't help but feel an energy take over and he stands up tall, looking down at the old man. Officer Friendly is gone. The Killer is back.

"I'm not gonna ask you to see Lori anymore."

Dale smiles, nodding. "Good."

But Rick tenses his jaw and makes sure Dale sees the determination and sheer power in his eyes. He's done asking, he's done asking permission, he's done tip toeing. He's done being told what to do. He feels his strength, his power overtake him and once again he becomes the Rick that kept everyone alive by sheer coldness and dominance when he asks,

"I want to see Shane."

to be continued


End file.
